


Dear Friend

by bri_ness



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Co-workers, Dual POV, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Letters, M/M, Really slow I'm sorry blame the source material, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-01-31 21:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12690612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bri_ness/pseuds/bri_ness
Summary: Isak and Even work together in a failing video store, and they cannot stand each other.Isak and Even both signed up for theLove Lettersdating service, and they’re both falling for their anonymous pen pal.Or, a She Loves Me AU (kind of, sort of).





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Whoops, I started an AU and accidentally fell in love with it. 
> 
> You don't need to know anything about _She Loves Me_ to read this, but let me tell you about it anyway. _She Loves Me_ is a musical that's one of many adaptations of the play _Parfumerie_. The most popular adaptation is _You've Got Mail_ , but _She Loves Me_ will forever be my favourite. That said, this is a very loose AU. _She Loves Me_ is set in a failing perfumery in the 1930s, whereas this is set in a modern day video store. I'll definitely lift from the plot and subplots, but I'm going to change a lot as well (read: it's going to be super gay). 
> 
> As you'll see from the prologue, this will be partially written in letters, but there will be narrative in the actual chapters as well. Enjoy this small taste, and I hope you're as excited for this as I am. :) 
> 
> Thanks to skamfwn for generally being awesome and helping me brainstorm stupid movies Isak would like. You are the best support squad. 
> 
> Chat with me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)

_Dear Friend,_

_I’ve never done this before. Have you?_

_Wait, I don’t like that introduction. But I can’t edit it, can I? That’s the whole point of a letter: stream-of-conscious, spill your guts. Unfortunately, guts are messy. I suppose you’d never know if I shred this letter or set it aflame, if I started again and wrote you a poem instead. I’d have to learn how to write a poem first. And, I’d already be lying to you. It feels especially wrong to lie in a letter, like you’re disrespecting the medium. Great confessions have been made in letters._

_This is why editing’s important. My friend says I edit my movies too much, that I lose the story’s honesty when I think too much about what it should be. My therapist says I do the same with my life. She thinks I try to control everything, cutting and shifting pieces until I lose myself to whatever narrative I’ve written. She’s a good therapist, but she occasionally gets lost in metaphors. I can relate._

_Do you like movies, dear friend? What’s your favourite? I hope it’s a love story._

_Sincerely,  
Art Vandelay_

_\---_

_Dear Stranger,_

_Let’s not get ahead of ourselves._

_If you’re playing a prank, just don’t. I have no sense of humour. If you’re a boy pretending to like boys because you think that’s fucking hilarious, you’re an asshole and I hope you get hit by a bus. Moving on._

_If you’re planning to murder me, at least do it in an interesting way. I want to be remembered and I have not done anything remarkable._

_If you think we could actually fall in love, you’re more optimistic than I am. My idiot friends are on me because apparently I’m not “open to love,” whatever the fuck that means. So this is me, putting myself out there using the least effective dating service possible. Seriously, letter writing in 2017? I saw the ads on Google, so clearly they know what the internet is. Please tell me you’re not one of those guys who thinks cell phones make it impossible to form real connections. I’d rather you murder me._

_My favourite movie is National Treasure. One of the great love stories of our time: Nicolas Cage and the Declaration of Independence._

_Bye,  
Ben Gates_

_PS: If we can't edit our letters, I guess I have to put this here. I like Seinfeld too, Art._


	2. Sounds While Selling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for such an encouraging response to the prologue. I'm even more excited about this AU now. I just hope you'll continue to enjoy it. ❤

_Dear Reluctant Friend,_

_Once you fall in love with me, I’m going to send you a package. A Christmas present—I suspect we’ll fall in love by Christmas. Wrapped in comic strips with a red bow on top. You won’t even notice the teeny-tiny air holes._

_When you open it, you’ll find a poisonous tarantula. That’s interesting, right? Unnecessarily elaborate? Almost like something out of a Bond film? And memorable as fuck. (I’m going to curse because you seem to curse a lot)._

_That’s the prank, by the way. I’m not going to promise you that I’m not crazy because we’ve established that you can’t lie in a letter. However, I will promise you that I’m not murderous. Unless you’re into that. Kidding. Maybe. It is difficult to flirt in a letter. I’m worried this isn’t coming across as charming in print as it is in my imagination._

_Are you smiling, at least? I refuse to believe you don’t have a sense of humour the same way I refuse to believe National Treasure is your favourite movie. You are, perhaps, a bit of a shithead. So am I, so that works nicely._

_So, the crazy thing. My mom gets upset when I use that word, but it usually means more to people than telling them I’m bipolar. I know you know what Google is if you don’t know what that means. I’m telling you now so you can back out, if you wish._

_I’m sorry if any of that sounds harsh. I haven’t mastered this whole how-to-tell-people-about-a-major-part-of-yourself-that’s-really-complicated-without-making-it-weird thing yet. In movies, it’s usually the climax, but that would mean it’s also our conflict. I don’t want that. I just want to fall in love._

_On that note, yes, I believe we can in fall in love. I can say that with some confidence because I fall in love with everyone I meet. (I don’t think that would be true if I met Donald Trump. We’re on the same page about things like racism and sexism being bad, right? Never hurts to check)._

_And, I’m already fond of you. You are cynical and skeptical, but you still signed up for something called Love Letters. You still wrote me back. You, my reluctant friend, are “open to love.”_

_However, you are a shit conversationalist. I asked what your favourite movie was, but you did not ask what mine was in return. Now, you’ll have to guess. Keep the mystery alive._

_Reluctant friend, will you please write me back?  
Art _

_PS: Shit, I forgot to ask. Favourite Seinfeld episode? Also, I’m slightly afraid you’re going to respond to this with “yada yada yada” because you’re a shithead. Please don’t. It won’t be as funny as you think it’ll be._

\---

It takes a certain kind of person to wake up and go to a job they hate, are not particularly good at, and will likely be laid off from in the next month. And Isak, Isak Valtersen is exactly that kind of person.

Hooray.

It’s not that Isak doesn’t have hopes and dreams. He is sure he must after four years of university, even if he’s not entirely sure what they are. What he does know is that in the meantime, he needs to eat, pay his bills, and smoke good weed, so he needs money. His dad stopped bankrolling his life once he graduated from high school because _that’s when he would have been on his own anyway—_ like the _anyway_ wasn’t important. _Anyway_ meant _I know you technically left home at sixteen because I left you all alone with a shitload of responsibility, but you would’ve left at eighteen, so what difference does it make?_

Jesus. Couldn’t he at least get 10000 NOK for emotional damages every now and then?

“Hello!”

Vilde’s voice at the beginning of the day is like if the sun stabbed Isak with one if its rays. It may seem bright and inviting, but it burns like hell.

“Early,” Isak says as he sips his coffee. Vilde’s not an employee, but a college intern developing a marketing plan for the store. Or, as Sana put it: _she’s free labour, so who cares if she’s annoying?_ Isak tried to play nice, offering Vilde his best suggestions. _Small Screen: Yes, we’ve heard of Netflix. Yes, we still exist._ Vilde was surprisingly unappreciative.

“It’s noon?”

Isak shrugs. “Where’s Eva?”

“I’m not sure?” Vilde says with a confused smile. “She's probably running late." 

Well, that would make sense. Vilde’s apartment is further from the store than Eva’s, and if she had to give Vilde a headstart, Eva will be at least five minutes late. It’s basic math.

Jonas enters the store like an angel sent to save Isak from an eternity of small talk. “Hey, what’s up and all that shit,” Isak says. “Can we talk?”

Jonas blinks as though he only just registered that he needs to be awake now. Isak empathizes. “Uh, sure. Hi, Vilde.” Vilde smiles at him, but her attention’s on the window.

Isak leads them into the horror section because it feels appropriate, then pulls the letter out of his pocket and hands it to Jonas. “He replied.”

“Seriously?” Jonas unfolds the letter and begins to read. “So, not a prank.”

“Guess not. Potentially a murderer, though.”

Jonas continues to read, then nods. “Ah, yeah. He’s—”

“Open?”

“Yeah. Funny.”

“Well.”

“He seems genuine.”

That's the problem. “Should I write him back?”

Jonas stares at the letter as though new information might reveal itself. “He doesn’t like racism and sexism, so?” He gives a halfhearted thumbs-up.

“I mean, that’s a pretty low bar.”

“Ok, then look at it this way.” Jonas hands Isak the letter, which he carefully folds and places back in his pocket. “He’s right. You signed up for this—and I know we were high, but you didn’t fight me that hard on it. You replied to his letter. For some reason, he replied to yours, and now you’re asking me if you should write him again." 

Jonas raises his eyebrows as though he made a brilliant point. “And?" 

“You want to, asshole. If you didn’t, you would’ve stuck that letter in that fucking drawer you keep coupons and flyers in—”

“—They might be useful one day—”

“Isak, that day will never come. Today, though. Today has come.” Jonas claps his shoulder. “And today, you are going to write this guy a fucking love letter.”

When Isak checked his mail last night for the first time in three months, he stuck the coupons and flyers in his drawer, threw out all the bank statements because everything’s online, and then held the envelope from Love Letters as though it actually contained a poisonous tarantula.

He did not expect anyone to write him back.

It took two beers before he could read it, but when he did, he smiled. Because he was buzzed, but also because Art was, somehow, charming in print. Maybe a bit strange. Honest in a way Isak forgot how to be.

He picked up a pen, then decided to wait and ask Jonas what he should do. Jonas was right, though. He'd already made his decision. 

“Sorry I’m late!” Eva comes in wearing one of Vilde’s t-shirts under the same flannel she was wearing yesterday.  “I can see this place is happening and fell apart with me.”

 _Small Screen_ is open from 12PM-9PM because it attracts hipsters, film students, and people looking for drugs who assume the store is a front, none of whom are awake in the time Isak’s heard described as _morning_. He suggested pushing their hours to 3PM-12AM—imagine all the stoners they’d get!—but Sana called him an idiot. No one ever values his ideas.

“Fun night?” Isak asks.

“Well, it can’t compare to changing the displays over and over again so I look busy. Where’s Sana, by the way?”

“She has a meeting at the library about how we can collaborate. My idea,” Vilde says, beaming when Eva high-fives her. “Can I help you with the displays? Show you how to attract different demographics?”

Their dirty talk is disturbing.

Without Sana around, Isak pulls out his phone. He’s inspired to reply to Art, but also feels like Art would be upset if he drafted part of the letter on his phone instead of handwriting it all at once. _Stream-of-conscious, spill your guts._ Guts are internal for a reason. They are fucking messy and gross. The _no editing_ rules goes against all of Isak’s instincts: _should you say that? will people think you’re weird if you say that? don’t say that, Isak._

Then again, writing a love letter to a stranger goes against both his sense of self-preservation and his sense of pride. If he’s going to do this, he might as well fucking do it.

It helps that he literally has nothing to lose.

As Isak puts his phone away, two customers enter the store. He fights a groan when he recognizes one of them: Mikael, their most loyal and most obnoxious customer. At least he only comes by when Jonas is on shift now. The other guy appears to be his friend, a classic hipster who could slip into any indie movie as the asshole of a male lead who does fucking terrible things that are forgiven because he’s _complicated._ And hot.

Isak quickly moves behind the counter in his quest to avoid all interactions with customers that go beyond scanning their items and taking their money.

“Vasquez,” Mikael says as he approaches Jonas. His friend’s browsing, waving off Eva’s offer to help. “I watched every single movie you recommended last time.”

“You mean all three of them?” Jonas asks.

Mikael nods. “I might be a couple days late in returning them, but should you really be charging late fees? Isn’t it dystopian to dictate the timeline in which people consume content? And if this store is an alternative for people who can’t afford Netflix and iTunes, aren’t late fees a barrier to that population?”

“You made those arguments two weeks ago and still owe us money. What did you think of the movies?”

“Shit.”

“All of them?”

“All of them. You haven’t figured me out yet.”

“Or you are impossible to figure out because your entire personality is to be contrary.”

Mikael shrugs. “Can we try again and test your hypothesis? I think you’re wrong, by the way.”

Jonas doesn’t quite hide his smile as he leads Mikael into the stacks.

Mikael’s friend glances at Eva, but when he notices she’s deep in conversation with Vilde, he turns his attention to Isak. He walks towards the counter, empty-handed.

Isak takes a deep breath and tries to remember how to smile. He thinks about reading his letter last night.

“Hi. Can I help you find something?” Isak asks. If only Sana could see him earning his Employee of the Month title now.

Mikael’s friend places his arms on the counter, leaning forward. “No, thank you. I’m actually not here for a movie.”

Oh, God. Of fucking course. “Look, I also can’t get you weed, meth, cocaine—”

“What about ectasy?” Isak blinks and the boy grins back at him. “Kidding, I’m kidding.”

“Wow. What incredible wit.”

The boy almost smiles, but it disappears as quickly as it came. “I was actually wondering if I could get a job application.”

Isak rolls his eyes. It’s always the same: a naïve first-year film student with no experience insists they’re qualified to work here because _movies are their passion._ They are convinced it’s their dream job, the perfect opportunity to introduce themselves to new films, discuss their favourites with coworkers and customers, and get to know the city’s artists. Isak likes to tell them how many hours he spends putting stickers on DVDs, then how many he spends removing stickers from DVDs. He calls it his passion. “We’re not hiring.”

“Really? Because I know Adam Malik, and I know that he quit a couple of weeks ago. So, isn’t his position open?”

Ah, yes. Adam quit to pursue a fucking culinary arts degree full-time. _Adam Malik_ figured out his hopes and dreams before Isak did. “I’m sorry, but we’re not filling that position.” As Sana explained, they do not have the workload or budget to justify his position anymore.

“Can I speak to your manager?”

Isak balks. Entitlement pisses him off. People who treat him like he doesn’t know what he’s doing piss him off. (Isak is often pissed off). “She’s in a meeting right now, but I guarantee she’ll tell you exactly what I did.”

“Can you leave a message for her then?”

“No.”

“No? That's not great customer service, is it?"

“I’m not going to waste her time.”

“Just tell Sana that Even Bech Næsheim came in and asked about a job.”

 _Who the fuck is this guy?_ He smiles at Isak’s frustration, which frustrates Isak even more. “You know Sana?”

“I’m friends with her brother.” Oh, of course he is. Mikael and Adam are too, and this guy fits right in their douchebag brigade.

“Ok. I’m friend with Jonas.” Isak points to Jonas, who is laughing so loudly with Mikael that it even distracts Eva and Vilde. _Damn it, Jonas. Look alive._ “I’d love to stand here and list who all of our friends are—”

“—Well, I have a friend named Arvid—”

“But it’s irrelevant. I’m not leaving Sana a message, and you’re not getting a job. I’m only sad that I’ll miss more of your incredible wit, Sven.”

“It’s Even, though I understand the confusion. I do resemble an adorable reindeer.”

“Goodbye, Even.”

Isak gives him a curt wave just as Sana walks through the door. Perfect, she has no patience for bullshit—

“Even?”

Oh no.

“Sana!” His smile comes back, this time wide, bright, and fake as hell. He hugs her and asks, “How are you doing?”

“I’m great,” she says—well, lies. Isak knows her tells because he’s a decent liar himself. “Elias said you were studying in Denmark? Is the semester over?”

“No, but I took a leave of absence.”

“Everything ok?”

“Oh, yeah. Just needed some time at home.”

Sana nods and that ends the conversation. It’s as obvious that there’s more to be said as it is that Isak’s been eavesdropping. He quickly looks at the computer when Even catches him. “Anyway,” Even says. “I’m so happy to see you. I asked the clerk behind the counter if I could leave you a message, but he said no.”

Isak looks up when he feels Sana’s eyes on him. It’s impossible to avoid that glare. “Isak? You couldn’t take a message?”

“He could’ve been a stalker!”

“It’s just Even.”

Isak throws his arms up as if to say _I don’t know who the fuck Even is!_ , but Even does not help his case by adding, “I said I was friends with Elias. And Adam.”

“He also said he wants Adam’s job,” Isak says. “I explained that’s not possible. I was very polite.”

Somewhere in the background, Eva snorts.

“You need a job?” Sana asks Even, who launches into his whole sob story. _I need to focus my energy somewhere. I’d like something consistent. I know this would be a supportive environment, excluding Isak. It would only be temporary until I go back to school._ Who gives a shit?

“You know I love movies,” Even says as his closing argument. “Almost as much as I love people. I’d be so good at this job.” Like they’re in a fucking movie themselves, a young woman walks in. “Here, let me show you.”

Before Sana can stop him, Even’s approached the woman. It’s perfect, really. He doesn’t know their collection. His arrogance will catch up with him, and that’s one trait Sana can’t stand. She has too much of it herself.

“Hi, how are you?” Even says. Somehow, his smile is even wider and brighter than before. It’s disconcerting. “What can I help you find today?”

“I don’t even know what I’m looking for, to be honest,” the woman answers. “I’m hoping something will jump out at me.”

“I’m not saying that won’t happen, but perhaps I could give it a shove?" 

The woman laughs. “Maybe.”

“So, what’s the occasion? Quiet night in, date…?”

“Somewhere in-between the two? I’m hanging out with this girl I have a crush on. I want to impress her with a movie she’ll like.”

“Oh, that’s perfect. I’ve made many people fall in love with me through movies.”

“Really?”

“Well, one. But that’s a decent track record, right?” The woman laughs again and for fuck’s sake, is this actually working? “Ok. Tell me everything about this girl.”

She does, almost like she’s talking to a friend. Even listens, only interjecting to ask questions. He lets her finish, even when it’s clear he’s settled on his recommendation. “So, she’s a feminist activist?” The woman nods. “You should watch _Itty Bitty Titty Committee._ It’s all about radical feminism, and I’ll be honest, I have some friends who love the way it’s depicted and others who think it’s really problematic. Either way, it’ll give you something to talk about. Funny as hell, too.”

“That sounds perfect, actually.”

“Perfect. I’ll—or, Isak? Can you check if it’s in stock?”

Isak smiles at Even’s fuck-up. They probably don’t even have it. “Of course." 

Isak takes his time typing in the title, pressing enter and then—oh. There it is. “It’s here,” Isak says. “Sven, why don’t you show her where it is?”

“Isak, you know he just started,” Sana says. “Why don’t you show her instead?”

_Just started?_

After Isak’s found the DVD and rung the rental through, he notices Even introducing himself to Jonas, Eva, and Vilde. _Isak’s_ friends. He catches Sana before she goes out back and asks, “What are you doing? We can’t afford another staff member right now.”

“I’m sorry, are you the manager?” Sana says. “Technically, Adam’s position is still budgeted for. And as Even said, it’s only temporary. Anyway, nothing is official until we’ve done the paperwork, so don’t lose sleep over decisions you’re not paid enough to care about.”

“I’m not going to be paid anything once we close.”

“I’m doing a favour for a friend, Isak. I thought you might understand that.”

Isak shuts up, resigned. Sana is the one friend he’s kept from high school. Sana is the only person that’s always had his back. It’s just unfair that she’s like that with _everyone._

“He’s annoying, though.”

“That’s why I think you two will really get along.”

\---

When Isak gets home, he starts his letter.

_Dear Persistent Stranger,_

_Yada yada yada. Just kidding._

_Today was shit. But, your letter did make me smile. Congratulations._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to alternate between Isak's POV and Even's, so Even's is next. :) If you read Blood vs. Water, I'll try to alternate updates between both fics. They're very different to write, so I think switching between them will help me stay excited about both of them. 
> 
> Chat with me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)


	3. Petty Aggravations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say other than thank you for your kind comments and enthusiasm about this fic. ❤ I'm enjoying writing it so much. Thanks to Gina and Rino for brainstorming movies with me and indulging a brief Hilary Duff nostalgia party. 
> 
> Chat with me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)

_Dear Persistent Stranger,_

_Yada yada yada. Just kidding._

_Today was shit. But, your letter did make me smile. Congratulations._

_I’m not worried about you murdering me because your plan is shit. You’re assuming the tarantula will bite me when it’s more likely that we’ll understand each other on a fundamental level. The spider has to build its own home, and I had to do the same._

_You’re probably imagining that as one of those shorts that play before Disney movies, like that fucking sad one where the volcanoes sing to each other. The Tarantula’s Reluctant Friend. It already sounds pandering. But if it wins any awards, I expect writing credit._

_Also, I’d have to be allergic for the tarantula’s bite to kill me. It would hurt like hell, though. Actually, that’s a better movie. The Tarantula's Reluctant Friend, but once I learn to trust him, he betrays me with a bite. Fucking dark, right? And more realistic._

_I don’t think you’d like that if you like sappy love stories with happy endings, actual Disney shit. Something like Cinderella, or that remake with the douchebag everyone apparently thought was hot in the early 2000s. I hope we’ve moved past that as a society. Doesn’t that have a secret admirer plot too? And you’re clearly into that. I’m calling it. That’s your favourite movie._

_You like love a lot. I guess you’ve had some experience with it. Falling in love with everyone you meet sounds really fucking exhausting. I barely fall in tolerance with most people. I’m good with the people I love, though. I know how to love them. I don’t want you to think I’m a total asshole when I’m really only 75% asshole (100% shithead, though)._

_Does everyone you fall in love with love you back? If they do, I don’t think we’ll ever get each other. Sorry._

_So, the crazy thing. Thanks for telling me. My mom’s crazy, too. And now that I see how that looks in print, I wish we could edit our letters because I’m an asshole who doesn’t think sometimes. I’m sorry. I don’t see either of you as crazy. You’re bipolar, and she’s schizophrenic._

_I backed out of her life in high school and hate myself for it, but I was just following my dad’s example. My relationship with her is better now. My dad’s still a dick. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Your honesty makes me it easy to be honest, I guess._

_My point is that I’m not backing out of this. And if you want to talk about being bipolar, or if you want to not talk about it, I’m here for either. I have to read every fucking word you write anyway. :)_

_Maybe I am 100% asshole. I understand if you don’t want to write me back. I hope you do._

_With some reluctance,  
Ben_

_PS: This is a fucking bit at this point, but my favourite Seinfeld episode is the one where George’s fiancé dies licking the envelopes for their wedding invitations._

_PS X 2: Sorry, shit conversationalist. I’m learning. What’s your favourite Seinfeld episode?_

\---

Even is grateful.

He knows what it’s not like not to be here. He knows what it’s like to feel like he’s fucking nowhere with nowhere to go. Today, though, he went out for breakfast with his parents. He went to therapy. He’s going to work at a job he adores.

He’s reading a love letter from a dear, dear friend.

With each word he reads, he thinks of ten to write. He wants to respond immediately because all of his thoughts and questions are too much to store in his brain; he feels like he needs to release them onto paper. But, Mikael told him his scripts are better when he sits with the idea rather than rushing into the writing. That’s how the story develops.

Even wants this to be a good story, so he reads the letter one last time before sticking it in a shoebox with the first one. His phone buzzes as he slides the box under his bed.

**Mikael**

You’re going to be late for work

How do you know I’m not already there

Because I’m in the next room  
And I can literally hear your heart racing  
Good letter?

We should rent A Cinderella Story

Why the fuck would we do that  
I mean of course we should  
But why

I’m falling in love

So it’s Tuesday

Wednesday, actually

Fucking hell  
Does Jonas work on Wednesdays

Not since I started  
Are you coming to visit?

Just for you???  
????????????  
????????????

Before Even can reply, Mikael shouts at him through the wall. “Go to work, asshole!”

He smiles, happy to be home.

\---

“Why do you act like the rules don’t apply to you?”

Ah, yes. In every love story, there is a foil, whether it’s a person, event, or even one of the lover’s thoughts. Even is in love with the world today, and his foil is a boy determined to make everyone as cynical as he is.  

Even offers Isak his best smile, and he knows it’s a good one, one that’s inspired many boys and girls to kiss it. Isak just scowls, and Even thinks it’s a shame. It ruins such a beautiful face. “I’m not sure what you mean, Isak?”

Even’s learned the more he says Isak’s name, the more he focuses on him, the more flustered he gets. “You’re late.”

Even widens his eye, drops his jaw, and places his hand over his heart. “Oh my God, Isak. You’re right. I am twelve whole minutes late, and I can see you’re totally overwhelmed with customers. They’ll never come back after receiving such poor customer service. I, Even Bech Næsheim, am solely responsible for the downfall of the video store. I’ll offer Reed Hastings an apology: poor guy takes so much blame.”

Even’s also learned that Isak’s weapon of choice is sarcasm. It’s so much more fun when he can beat him at his own game.

“Your wit remains remarkable.”

“Thank you. Anyway, I texted Sana and told her I’d take the time off my break. She did not care at all. You, however, seem to care a lot. Isak, I think you might be obsessed with me? I’m worried I’ll find _Swimfan_ in your rental history.”

Isak rolls his eyes and walks away. And Even considers feeling guilty, but Isak’s been miserable to him since they met. He openly talks about how much he hates his job, but he’s the first to point out Even’s mistakes, he watches the clock whenever Even takes a break, and he makes constant comments about how they’re overstaffed and due to close within the month.

“Do you think losing a staff member will help us stay open?” Even asked him one day.

“ _Yes._ Let me show you the door, Sven.”

“Of course, Isak. I’d be happy to walk you out.”

Everyone else has been lovely. Eva is fun, open and honest. Vilde is sweet, if a little overbearing. Jonas is ultimately loyal to Isak, but they get along well when Isak’s not on shift with them--even if they mostly talk about Mikael. And Sana, well, he already knew Sana was a better friend than anyone deserves. She’s loyal, even at her own literal expense.

Even asked her how she could not only befriend Isak in high school, but remain friends with him until now. “We were both angry,” she answered. “And things changed for me. I met Chris, I started dating Yousef, and I got the store. It’s not that my anger went away, but it stopped being the strongest thing I felt. Isak’s annoying, absolutely, but he’s still in that place. I’m not going to abandon him there.”

Even sometimes thinks about that when he taunts Isak, but it’s not like Isak’s doing anything to get himself out of that place. If anything, he’s trying to pull others into it.

Even’s not taking the bait. Not when he’s still getting over being angry at himself.

It’s only himself, Eva, and Isak working today. It’s slow, so Even joins Isak as he’s scanning in a pile of returns. When he grabs a DVD, Isak glares at him. “Literally just doing my job,” Even says, and Isak leaves him alone.

As much as he enjoys interacting with customers, Even likes these menial tasks as well. It gives his mind freedom to wander, and oh, his mind loves long, slow strolls, stopping to smell the roses. With each DVD he scans, he imagines the story of the customer who rented it. Did they watch it alone, with someone they were trying to love, or with someone they already loved? Did they eat popcorn, chocolate, were they high or drunk? Did they laugh when they were supposed to cry or vice versa?

Even hesitates when he picks up Baz Luhrmann’s _Romeo and Juliet._ Did it make anyone else realize they weren’t alone in feeling a love so intense, it has to become a tragedy? It’s the only place emotions like that can go.

Isak takes it from his hands, and Even feels like he tore a blanket off him. He scans the DVD and throws it on the shelving cart. “There. Takes two fucking seconds.”

It’s cold. Isak is cold.

The door opens, and Even’s eager for it to be a customer so he’ll have an excuse to get away from Isak. Instead, it’s Sana and a blonde woman Even doesn’t recognize. Within seconds, Eva’s joined them behind the counter.

“Who is _that_?” she whispers as Sana chats with the woman.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Isak asks.

“ _No_. I have a girl I occasionally hook up with.” Eva pauses. “Who neither of you have ever met.”

“Of course.”

Sana approaches the counter with the woman. “Everyone, this is Noora,” she introduces. Noora gives a small wave. “She’s the librarian I’ve been working with. We’re going to donate some of our movies with low circulation stats to them.”

“I’m here for your rejects, essentially,” Noora says.

“Oh, so you’ll take Isak?” Even says. When Noora furrows her eyebrows, he continues, “Ah, nevermind. You seem nice. I can’t, in good conscience, put you through that.”

Sana quickly moves past it. “They’re going to have movie nights using what we donate. Vilde will put together lists of recommendations for each movie, things like: _if you like this, you should try this_. We’re hoping it’ll show people that we offer lesser-known indie titles they might be interested in.”

“Will anyone even go to the movie nights? If no one’s renting them from us?” Isak asks, and Even finds it obnoxious. At least they’re trying something.

“Well, that’s on us,” Noora says. “But, I think it’s possible. We host so many special interest groups in the library. If we can find a movie suited to their interests, and if we can get them to invite their friends? We’ll get a crowd. Absolutely.”

“I can help with that,” Even says. “I’m good at that.”

“You can ask Vilde if she needs help because that’s her responsibility,” Sana says. Even catches Isak smirking at him. “I will, however, need you and Isak to work on weeding our collection together. Can you do that without killing each other?”

“I’m fine with it,” Isak says. “But I’m worried Even will make ten-minute speeches about why each movie isn’t actually a ‘reject.’”

“Isak, I would not be criticizing someone else’s work ethic,” Sana says.

“I’m fucking joking—”

“And maybe don’t curse in front of our business partner?”

Noora blushes, and it matches Eva’s.

“Besides, you’re underestimating me,” Even says. “Each speech will be twenty minutes long.”

Isak looks to Sana to chastise Even, but she offers to take Noora on a tour instead. “Fuck,” Isak says once they’re out of earshot. “You get away with everything.”

“Yeah, yeah, we all know you two are going to hook up,” Eva says, waving them off. “Do you think Noora’s into girls? I mean, she’s a _librarian_. It’s a very gay profession.”

“That should be your opening line,” Isak suggests, and Eva slaps his shoulder.

“Fuck it, I’m going in,” Eva says. “How do I come off as kind, intelligent, and funny, but not like I’m trying too hard?”

“Just be yourself,” Isak says. Sincere. Fucking _sincere._

“That’s terrible advice, but thank you.” Eva smiles and leaves to find Noora.

“I don’t get you,” Even says.

Isak shrugs. “Maybe your problem is assuming people need to be understood. Maybe I’m just an asshole.”

“But you’re not. You were nice to Eva.”

“I like Eva.”

“And you hate me.”

“I don’t—I don’t care about you enough to hate you, Even."

“Fine. You don’t like me, though.”

“Oh, do you need me to tell you why? Because I’d be happy to.” The glee on Isak’s face is truly concerning. It’s not an expression Even’s seen on him before. “You’re entitled and cocky. You’re so fucking romantic about this place that it’s obnoxious to those of us in reality. And everything’s….” Isak stops himself.

“What?” Even asks. “What’s the point of censoring yourself now?”

“Fine. You’re the reason we’re not getting as many shifts. Jonas was supposed to work today, not you. You’re the reason we’re going to close and all lose our jobs. Just because you took advantage of Sana’s friendship.”

“Don’t act like Sana didn’t have any agency in the decision to hire me. You know she’s not going to do anything she doesn’t want to do. Just be honest, if it’s because I’ve only been here a few weeks and am already better at the job—”

“I don’t give a shit about this job.”

“Then what is it, Isak? What are you not saying?”

A customer comes in. Because, Even remembers, they are at work. “I’ve got it,” Isak says, taking off before Even can even process their conversation.

Sure, he can be cocky. He knows that he can flirt and charm, but God, he is not arrogant. He doesn’t know how to get past that stage with people, doesn’t know if he even should. He’s still surprised his dear friend wrote him back.

And he is not entitled: he is so grateful to be here, back in Norway, living with Mikael, working at this store. He has thanked Sana more than she wanted to be thanked. It’s not a second chance for him. It’s more like a fifth, and he is very aware of that.

If Isak were actually worried about losing his job, he’d work harder. So, that’s just bullshit.

With more questions and no answers, Even decides to let it go for now. What’s a love story without a villain, anyway?

\---

After watching _A Cinderella Story_ with Mikael, Even starts his letter.

_Dear Honest Friend,_

_Don’t tell me you don’t see the parallel._

_In Lava, that fucking sad one where the volcanoes sing to each other, they’re both calling out for someone to lava because they want to be in love. And, they’ve both been alone for so long. He almost went extinct._

_Honest friend, let me be honest with you in return. I have almost gone extinct. But I am here now, and I just want someone to lava. Perhaps it’s you._


	4. Tension in the Air

_Dear Honest Friend,_

_Don’t tell me you don’t see the parallel._

_In Lava, that fucking sad one where the volcanoes sing to each other, they’re both calling out for someone to love because they want to be in love. And, they’ve both been alone for so long. He almost went extinct._

_Dear honest friend, let me be honest with you in return. I have almost gone extinct. But, I am here now, and I just want someone to lava. Perhaps it’s you._

_Maybe you know the answer to your question now. No, everyone I fall in love with does not love me back. It’s a blessing. I think I am very difficult to love._

_I do get lonely though, and you seem to think you’re good at love, so I’m going to keep writing this letter. I’m sorry that I almost stopped. I’m sorry that I make everything too intense._

_You’ve either misunderstood me or I’ve misled you. I don’t love sappy love stories with happy endings (though I did rewatch A Cinderella Story and it’s a true classic). None of them capture the way love feels to me. You know how sometimes you use up too much of one feeling and have to resort to another? Like when you’re so fucking sad that you just start laughing? Love, if it’s strong enough, will always turn into something else. Sometimes it’s joy, but when you run out of that, you’re left with anger, despair, and other words I feel guilty sending you in a letter._

_I’m often misidentified as a romantic. Yes, I like love, but I know that it can kill me. I’m hoping it might be strong enough to save me too._

_My honest friend, I would erase everything I’ve written thus far if our arrangement allowed for that. It’s too much to put on you, and I’m sorry. You know, we have the same favourite Seinfeld episode. It’s truly a tragic love story—sealing her wedding invitations sealed her fate—but it’s a fucking bit. It reminds me to not always take myself so seriously. (I’m not doing a great job, am I?)_

_Thank you for telling me about your mom, and I don’t think you’re an asshole. Assholes aren’t self-aware or apologetic. (Still 100% shithead, though). I’m sorry your dad’s probably one of those assholes. When I read that you had to build your own home, I was incredibly sad. Actually, I wanted to wrap you in a blanket, kiss your head, and tell you that someone wants to build a home with you. I promise to do that if we fall in love. I still think we will._

_It takes strength to build a home, by the way. I just want you to know that._

_Every time I see a spider, I think of you. Every time I see a boy, I think it’s you. This morning, a boy with a blush served me coffee. He was alone behind the counter, totally overwhelmed as someone yelled at him for shortchanging them. I told the yeller to fuck off. I wanted to hug the boy and promise him hours of Xbox and cans of beer after his shift._

_There was a boy sleeping next to me on the tram who smelled like a campfire. He was snoring a little. I wanted to offer him my shoulder and ask him what he dreamt about._

_Oh, and a shy boy with glasses I met on a walk. He needed directions to some building I’ve never heard of for a job interview. His suit was too big. I wanted to fix his tie and tell him that no matter what happens today, you are perfect._

_I didn’t do anything I wanted to because I don’t think any of those boys were you. I think I’d know your smile, if you ever show it. Maybe you can call me a romantic after all._

_Honest friend, all of those boys made me realize how desperate I am to see you, touch you, talk to you. If we’re going to fall in lava, we will need to meet._

_What do you think about that?_

_With baited breath,  
Art_

\---

Isak does not wear glasses.

He doesn’t smell like a campfire, nor does he show his blush to strangers. He’s just a guy with a job that sounds like a punchline, an apartment that is a punchline, and family that doesn’t understand humour well enough to be a punchline. He is not any of the boys his dear stranger could fall in love with.

Well, he knew this was inevitable. He decides not to tell Jonas about the letter because he knows what Jonas will say: _you’re not giving yourself enough credit._ It’s his duty as Isak’s best friend, and he will always fulfill it. But, Isak notices that Jonas is spending more time at Mikael and Even’s than at his place. Eva has frequent lunch dates with Even. Sana invites Even over for dinner with her and Yousef.

It’s not like they’re ignoring Isak. His only unanswered texts are to his dad. But, it’s obvious what’s happening. There are people others want to love and people they work to love. Even, somehow, is the former, and Isak is the latter.

Isak feels guilty, like he’s tricked his dear stranger. He throws the latest letter in the garbage and goes to work.

It’s a busy Saturday, and because the universe is conspiring against Isak, it’s busiest when Eva and Even are break. Jonas is busy when a customer comes in, approaching the counter with a kind of determination and hope Isak’s learned to dread. “So, this is kind of obscure,” she says before Isak even offers to help. “But I’m doing this big research project on homelessness, and I’m trying to get a picture of what it’s like in different countries. I also want to do some then-and-now comparisons, you know?”

Isak’s tempted to advise her to narrow her focus, but he never asked for her life story. “Are you looking for a movie?”

“Uh, yeah. It’s called _Streetwise._ It’s this documentary from the 80s about homeless teens in America.” Isak searches their database. “It was actually nominated for an Academy Award, but it was only released on VHS—”

“We don’t have it.”

“Oh?”

“If it was only released on VHS, we probably can’t get it either. Sorry.”

Even and Eva walk in, bundled up and carrying to-go bags from the Chinese place Isak likes. “So you’re saying there’s nothing you can do?” the woman asks.

Eva glances at them, but Even, _fucking Even,_ comes over with his coat still on and nose still red from the cold. “Ah, I’m sure that’s not true,” he says. “Maybe I can help you. What are you after?”

Fine. If Even wants to listen this woman talk about her research project that will surely change the world, if he wants to ask  her questions about it, if he wants to stroke her ego, then by all means, Isak will let him. He’ll come to the same dead-end after wasting even more time.

“ _Streetwise_?” Even asks, ten years later. “Great movie. You know the whole thing is on YouTube? I actually think there are two videos.”

“Really?”

“Let me double check.” Even pulls out his phone and fiddles with it, then shows the woman his screen. “Here. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding that.”

“Oh, thank you so much. Can I tell you how nice it is to talk to someone helpful?”

Isak flips her off behind the counter.

“You can’t do that,” Isak says once she’s gone. Even takes off his coat and holds it in his arms. “YouTube is the competition.”

“Not when we don’t have the movie.”

“Yeah, but it makes people think to think of YouTube before coming to us.”

“No, it makes people think there are kind, helpful employees here they can trust.” Even passes his coat over the counter like he’s handing it to Isak. Isak keeps his hands firmly at his side. “Could you please hang this up for me?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“The coat rack is literally right behind you.”

“Take the walk. It’s good for your health.”

“Ok, children,” Eva says, swooping in to take Even’s coat and hang it up with her own. “May I remind you there are actual customers in here today, so you need to behave?”

“Tell him,” Even says. “He always starts it.”

“No, Sven. Your winning personality just provokes a certain reaction out of me.”

Eva rolls her eyes. “You two seriously need to fuck. How about Jonas and I watch the front while you work on finding donations for the library? Away from the innocent bystanders?”

“Fine,” Isak says. “Let’s just do that and not talk.”

“The absence of your voice is my favourite sound,” Even says.

“Likewise.”

“There you go!” Eva says with a bright smile. “You’ve found something you have in common.”  

It’s, thankfully, not a task that requires communication. Isak queried their database for their items with the lowest circulation stats, and all he and Even need to do is find them on the shelves. It does not, however, stop Even from fighting for some of them.

“What about—”

“No.”

“It’s so rare—”

“Because no one wants to watch it.”

“There aren’t any movies like this—”

“For a reason.”

“Can you at least hear me out?”

Isak takes the DVD from Even, opens it, and twirls the disc in his hands. “No one loves this, Even. So, we might as well just….” Isak mimes breaking it in half.

He smirks when Even flinches, until he realizes it’s not because of his actions. Sana has, of course, chosen this exact moment to make her one appearance of the day.

“Really, Isak?” she says. “Imagine if a customer saw you doing that.”

“No one’s even around here.”

“That sounds like a defense and not an apology.”

God, Even must be fucking loving this. It’s not fair for Isak to be the only one who gets reprimanded. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” Isak says. “But Sana, can I ask? How do you feel about directing customers to find a movie on YouTube?”

“A movie we don’t have and can’t get,” Even says. “I think it’s good customer service.”

“I think that I’m running out of time for your games, Isak,” Sana says. “All I need you to do is your job. Understood?”

“Of course.” He doesn’t mean for the sarcasm to seep through, but he’s frustrated. Even is always the fucking saint here.

“Good. Let’s not have this conversation again.”

Once Sana’s gone, Even says, “Ok. I have to ask.”

“No. You really don’t.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“Have we not gone over this?”

“There’s more than what you’re telling me.”

“Why does it bother you if I hate you?”

“Because I’m not used to it?” Even says. “I don’t have this problem with people, Isak. If I’ve actually offended or hurt you, please tell me so I can apologize. Otherwise, I’m not sure what I can do here. I’m not saying we’ll be friends, but we need to learn how to tolerate each other.”

“Not used to it,” Isak repeats. “That’s just it.”

“What are you talking about?”

Isak knows that he can’t keep fighting with Even. It’s exhausting, it’s unprofessional, and it’s affecting his relationships with the few friends he has. He doesn’t _like_ him, though, and it’s inexplicably important to Isak that Even knows that.

“Everything’s easy for you.”

“What?”

“You just walk in here and get a job that you’re instantly good at. You break every single rule, but everyone forgives you. You look like that. You were able to take a leave from school because why, you just wanted to fuck around for a bit? It’s not like that for all of us. Some of us can’t fall back on our fucking charm.”

Even’s quiet, so Isak continues.

“You were everyone’s best friend within weeks. Everyone loves you, Even, and it’s infuriating because they don’t see—”

“Don’t see what?”

“You're so fucking fake. All style, no substance. You’re a performer because you don’t want anyone to see how shit your personality really is.”

It’s mean. It feels mean, but Isak’s frustrated, so he lets it sit between them until Even decides to do something with it.

"You really are an asshole.” Isak shrugs. “You were looking for someone to hate, and you chose me.”

“You made the decision very easy.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong about me. I probably do have a shit personality, but I’d rather play the charmer than be the asshole. You are going to lose everything that way.”

“Don’t act like you know me.”

“Oh come on, Isak. You’ve clearly made some assumptions about me.”

Isak’s out of things to say, and his anger’s transforming into a sadness that feels thick, like he could get stuck in it.

_You know how sometimes you use up too much of one feeling and have to resort to another?_

His anger always becomes emotions he’d feel guilty sending in a letter. Fuck, he feels guilty for even feeling them.

“I’m going to see if Jonas wants to switch places,” Even says. “Let’s not talk for the rest of the day.”

Isak knows he owes Even that much.

\---

Isak’s notoriously bad at taking out his garbage.

It’s self-sabotage. The longer it stays, the worse it smells, and the more bugs invade his apartment—all because he refuses to do a simple task that takes two minutes.

It is easier to self-sabotage than to have something and lose it. The thing being...cleanliness? Isak is losing track of the metaphor, like his dear friend, but that’s because he’s too focused on his dear friend.

He would be an asshole not to reply to something that fucking heartfelt, and that’s what he is. But, Even’s words play at the back of his mind: _you’re going to lose everything that way._

He’s worried he’ll lose his dear friend if they meet. He will absolutely lose him if he doesn’t reply. And God, he needs _something_ hopeful in his life. He doesn’t like being the way he is. It’s exhausting. It’s so fucking lonely.

He sang out for someone to lava, and they sang back. It’s cruel to go silent now. It’s also fucking stupid.

Isak digs the letter out of the garbage and reads it until he’s memorized it. This boy thinks he’s difficult to love, which is so fucking ironic Isak wants to laugh. This boy thinks Isak’s strong. This boy understands emotions the same way he does.

This boy likes Seinfeld, and dark humour, and he watched a movie because Isak mentioned it. This boy writes with an honesty Isak barely knows how to feel. This boy thinks he’d recognize Isak’s smile when Isak can’t even recognize his own.

He has to at least try.

_Dear Friend,_

_I have thought so much since I read your letter, and it’s all your fault. Let’s meet so I can take all of my misplaced anger out on you. Does that sound like a good offer?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)


	5. Will He Like Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always a little nervous when I update this because it feels more vulnerable than my other works. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate all your comments and messages. I hope you continue to enjoy. :)
> 
> Chat with me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)

_Dear Friend,_

_I have thought so much since I read your letter, and it’s all your fault. Let’s meet so I can take all of my misplaced anger out on you. Does that sound like a good offer?_

_I hope you weren’t literally holding your breath until I replied. It kind of seems like something you would do. If you died, I’m asking whoever’s reading this letter to place it by your grave. The internet will think you died when the vending machine crushed you, but whoever’s reading this will know love was the real killer._

_Maybe I shouldn’t joke about the whole love-killing-you thing. I’m sorry. I don’t know how serious you are about anything. I’m not sure you know, either._

_You put way too fucking much on me. I am not going to save you because that’s not how this works. People help each other, and hurt each other, but we can’t expect anything else from each other. For now, my goal’s just to make you laugh because you make me smile. A fair trade._

_I have to be honest because that's the deal: your letter spent a day in the trash. Don’t worry, it was in good company with take-out wrappers and an empty shampoo bottle. It now has a distinct scent I will forever associate with you: mint and ketchup._

_I fucking panicked. You’re right, I’m not any of the guys you mentioned in your letter, but you’re also right that you’d know my smile. I’ve shown it to your letters more than I’ve shown it to other people. If you want to find me, look for the boy who only smiles around you._

_This is fucking terrifying._

_Here’s the thing about me. Not too long ago, in the middle of the afternoon on a fucking Tuesday, I locked myself in the bathroom at work and punched the wall. I was so fucking angry. I was angry at my coworker who texts throughout her shift because she has people to talk to. I was angry that my dad takes three fucking days to answer my texts, and that I still text him first. I was angry that I was stuck at a job that is boring as hell and everyone tells me I’m bad at._

_I was angry that I couldn’t even feel relief when my shift ended, because then what was I supposed to do? Watch TV, play Xbox, stare at the ceiling until it’s late enough to sleep? It all gets so fucking old so fucking quickly. I was angry that nothing in my life made me happy._

_A couple nights later, I invited my best friend over to smoke and told him all of this. Within hours, we were creating a profile for something called Love Letters. It sounded like a scam. I didn’t expect to hear from anyone. I’m surprised you wrote me back. Twice._

_So here we are, and now there’s something in my life that makes me happy. Someone. You. To be really clear._

_But when we meet, you will see this anger you find funny or endearing isn’t either of those things in person. It makes me withdraw. It makes me mean. I really don’t want to be mean to you. I’ll lose you, and rightfully so._

_I’m selfish enough that I still want to try. Because when you said that you wanted to wrap me in a blanket, kiss my head, and tell me that someone wants to build a home with me, I thought that sounded really fucking nice. Maybe it’ll be shit for you._

_Here’s my promise to you. I really am going to try. I won’t be nice, but I’ll be kind. I won’t be open, but I’ll be honest. I’ll be fucking hilarious, as you’ve come to expect. I really want to hear your laugh._

_I’d probably enjoy kissing you. Just a hunch I have._

_I don’t know how to coordinate this through letters, but giving you my phone number feels wrong at this stage. Do you know the Tea for Two café? My budget doesn’t allow for anything fancy, but my friend who goes on a lot of first dates says it’s a good place for them. Cozy. Let’s go there on November 15 at 8PM. I’ll let you come up with how we’ll find each other because that’s more your thing than mine._

_Just say yes or no. I won’t say I won’t be hurt if you say no, but I’ll understand. I’m so sorry for how I’ll fuck this up._

_Sincerely,  
Ben_

_PS: Jesus Christ, how’s that for some navel-gazing? I wanted to go back to what I said at the beginning, how much you’ve made me think. I like the way you consider things. I like that you’re sensitive, even if I’ll always give you shit for it. I like you, dear friend._

_PS X 2: Please don’t show up to our date smelling like mint and ketchup. I know you’re considering it._

\---

Before Even heard from his dear friend, he had so many plans for their date that he didn’t have a plan at all.

He'd prefer to cook for him, but he understood they'd have to meet in public. Even would choose a quiet, underground restaurant, one with strange foods on the menu they could experience together.

But, he worried that was too typical. Maybe they could meet at a movie, agreeing on the show and seats beforehand. Or, on a designated park bench. Even could devise a scavenger hunt until they found their way to each other.

No matter the venue, Even would bring flowers. He was sure of that.

If the first interaction was free of poisonous tarantulas and other red flags, Even would invite him over to his apartment. He’d kick Mikael out, clean until it was no longer a health hazard, and make a playlist for the occasion. He could bake for his dear friend, something that smells of cinnamon. He’d definitely have beer on hand. Perhaps they’d watch _Lava, National Treasure, A Cinderella Story_ , or a few episodes of _Seinfeld._

And oh, he would kiss him. He would pay attention to what made his dear friend smile, gasp, shiver; he would tell him he was handsome, beautiful, fucking sexy; he would touch even the smallest parts of him. 

All style, no substance. That’s what romance is, pretty ideas that distract from the truth, and everyone identifies Even as a romantic.

He wants them to be wrong, but they all have evidence to support their case.

Now, his dear friend has proposed a simple date at a café in a letter even more honest than the one before it. Even suspects he wouldn’t care for the bells or whistles Even would typically use to mark the occasion. Their entire relationship is honest conversation, and that’s exactly what their first date needs to be.

To quote his dear friend, that is fucking terrifying.

It’s one thing in a letter. It’s, actually, exactly what the letter said: _But when we meet, you will see this anger you find funny or endearing isn’t either of those things in person._ It’s not anger for Even, but the way he thinks, his sensitivity, his intensity. What his dear friend finds remarkable is exactly what’s isolated Even in reality.

He used to blame his bipolar for destroying his relationships, and sure, it has done its damage. Sometimes it’s because people can’t understand it, and sometimes it’s because Even doesn’t give them to chance to. Sometimes, Even’s realized, it’s also because people are determined to be his saviour. He’s strangely relieved his dear friend has no interest in saving him.

Denmark wasn’t exactly about that.

His first year was incredible, exactly what he imagined. He studied films and the people who studied them, he debated and conceded, he fell in and out of love. He made some friends who stood by him when he was sick and some who didn’t, but he’d come to expect that. He was mostly happy.

Then, he returned for his second year, and it seemed like everyone lost the passion that brought them to study works of passion. He went from being regarded as interesting to being regarded as weird. He felt too much, and he was told to let things go. He made people uncomfortable, which kind of broke his heart.

It wasn’t just his bipolar. It was who he was.

All in all, it was not as dramatic as Even perhaps would’ve preferred it to be. He wasn’t ostracized, he completed his assignments, and he appeared fine. But, he hated himself, he really fucking hated himself, and he knew that was a dangerous place to live.

He talked with the school, his therapist, his parents, Mikael, and they decided he’d take a temporary leave of absence to come home. He just needed to be around people who loved him even when he was absolutely convinced they shouldn’t.

So, Isak’s right, and Isak’s wrong. Everything is far from easy for him. He didn’t take the time off school to fuck around, he did it to take care of himself, but not everyone believes those are different things. Everyone loves him at first, that’s true, and it’s also true they almost all discover his shit personality in the end.

He’s just too much, and he’s worried his dear friend won’t like everything he is.

The problem, as he tells Eva over lunch at _Tea for Two_ , is that he is kind of falling in love with him. It’s not unusual for Even, but it feels different this time. People usually aren’t this honest with him before he decides he could love them.

“Do you have a picture?” Eva asks, nodding towards Even’s phone.

“Uh, no.”

“He hasn’t shown you one? Ok, that is concerning, but everyone has some trace of themselves on the internet.” Eva pulls out her own phone. “I was even able to stalk you a little. What’s his name?”

“Well, I don’t know that either.”

Eva puts her phone down and stares at Even. “Oh my God, this is practically an episode of _Catfish_. What app did you use again?”

“It’s not an app. We’re writing love letters to each other.”

Eva blinks as she takes that in. “Listen, I get why that would appeal to you, but do you have any idea how much action you’d get on Tinder? And you get to see pictures!”

“I don’t care about that.” Eva raises her eyebrows. “Fine, I care a little about that, but I’m fine not knowing his name. I feel like I know him better than I know you, just from reading his letters. We made a rule that we have to be honest in them.”

“Oh, if you made a _rule_ —”

“If you’ll recall, I said lunch was my treat in exchange for your moral support.”

“Even, I’m serious, I’m making you a Tinder profile. However, if you’re set on this.” Eva sighs, but ultimately smiles. “Ok. You like him, and he wants to meet you here?”

Even looks around, frowning at the lack of décor, the basic menu, the indie music everyone knows playing from the radio. “Not exactly a romantic atmosphere, is it?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve had so many dates here. It’s intimate.”

Well, if two people are saying that, perhaps Even is wrong about this place.

“But the restaurant isn’t the problem,” Eva continues. “Actually, I’m a little confused as to why you need moral support? You like someone, he likes you, and you’re going on a date. What am I missing?”

“I don’t know if he’ll actually like me. Or maybe he will, but I’m not convinced he should.” Even pauses to sip his tea, but mainly to give himself an excuse to pause. “I’ve been thinking about what Isak said.”

“Oh, if you want my advice? _Never_ do that.”

“I know he’s an asshole. I know he just likes hating me. That doesn’t mean he’s wrong. Once people really get to know me, they stop liking me.”

Eva bites her bottom lip, stirring her coffee that doesn’t need to be stirred. “I agree that Isak was an asshole and I told him that, but I’m not going to shit talk him. I just want to make that clear.”

“Of course.” Even may not understand how they’re friends, but he understands they are, and he knows Eva is a good one. That’s why he chose her for moral support.

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He doesn’t want to get to know you---which, by the way, I don’t totally blame him for. You’re not a saint to him, either.”

“I know that.”

“My point is, if he doesn’t know you, how can you trust his opinion of you?” Eva says. “But this nameless guy, he has actual love letters from you. Where you’re honest, right? He knows you, he likes you, so why don’t you trust in that instead?”

“It could be so different in person.”

“Yeah, it might be. It might really fucking suck. Maybe you’ll hate him!” Even shakes his head: he truly can’t imagine that he’d hate him. “But it’s one date, Even. I am sure you have been on less promising dates in the past. Give yourself a chance.”

"I don't know if I deserve one."

“Ok, I'm trying a new approach.” Eva claps her hands together on the table, leaning forward. “I need your moral support now.”

“Ok?”

“I have a thing with a girl that is uncomplicated and fun. We’re not together, we’re not exclusive: we just hook-up. It’s easy, and I’m good at it.”

“You’re talking about Vilde.”

“Carrying on. Then I met Noora, who is cool, smart, interesting, and I like her. I like her a lot.  But like, what do I have to offer someone like that? Why would I even try?”

It always throws Even when people don't see how remarkable they actually are. “Eva, you are cool, smart, and interesting yourself. You’re also loyal, a good listener, funny—”

“Do go on.”

“Noora would be lucky to have you.”

“It’s so easy with Vilde, though.”

“But, you’re not going to fall in love with her.”

Eva shakes her head. “And she’s not falling in love with me, either. We just make each other less lonely.”

“Then you should go for it with Noora."

“Almost like you’re saying…I should give myself a chance?”

 Eva raises her eyebrows, and Even holds up his hands in defeat. “Yes, ok. Point taken."

“Good. And, thanks. I legitimately needed that. I don’t know why you’re so convinced this guy won’t like you. You’re great.”

Even tries to accept the compliment, tries not to worry about when Eva will see something that makes her change her mind. “Thank you. I’ll go on the date.”

“Please discreetly take a picture of him and send it to me.” 

“Of course.”

\---

_Dear Friend,_

_I’m saying yes. Tea for Two, November 15, 8PM. Let’s each wear something that relates to our favourite movie. You still have to guess mine to keep the mystery alive._


	6. Tonight at Eight

_Dear Friend,_

_I’m saying yes. Tea for Two, November 15, 8PM. Let’s each wear something that relates to our favourite movie. You still have to guess mine to keep the mystery alive._

_It is a hesitant yes, but that has nothing to do with what you revealed in your letter. It has everything to do with me. I am, truly, incredibly self-involved. I believe I make people feel new hurts, point them towards new pain. It’s because I say things that make people think about what they don’t want to think about. Sometimes I do things people wish I wouldn’t. And I always, always, trick people into believing I’m a better person than I am. I’m charming, and in every movie I’ve seen, the charmer is the villain._

_I worry I’ll be something else for you to be angry about. Someone you thought you could love, but ultimately did not._

_(I see your navel-gazing and raise you a narcissistic monologue)._

_I proposed the meeting because that’s what I do, I act before I think, then I overthink, and then I try to counteract. I live in this endless cycle of trying to undo everything I’ve done. Sometimes that means fixing my fuck-ups. According to my therapist, sometimes I just don’t let myself happy. Rejecting your invitation, I believe, would be the latter. I will probably overthink this again, so I ask your forgiveness for that. I’ll show up, though. I promise to be there._

_I’m saying yes. I wanted to write it down again. My mom taught me to write my promises down so I wouldn’t forget them._

_Dear friend, every time I read one of your letters, I’m astounded by how brave you are._

_First, to confess all of your anger to me. I know you know this, but you only hurt yourself when you punch a wall. I keep imagining your hand, the same one that writes me letters, red, rough, and bruised. I want to hold it, run my thumb over it, soothe it. Remind you that you’re worth protecting, that you deserve comfort, even if you are the person who does the most damage to yourself. I don’t have words (believe it or not) for how grateful I am for the people who’ve done that for me._

_I’m not as worried about your anger as you are, though of course I’m sad that you’re sad. I think when you’re angry, you’re mostly sad. I can’t fix your dad, or your job, or anything else that makes you punch walls, but I can keep you company through it. I can listen to you, and hold your hand, and remind you that you, my brave friend, are pretty fucking remarkable to me. I can make you smile._

_Second, for admitting that you threw my letter in the trash. That is something I would do. (Unfortunately, I can’t find a mint and ketchup cologne)._

_Third, for saying I make you really happy. I forgot I could be that person to someone._

_And—or shit, fourth—for deciding to try for me. I don’t need you to be nice, but I’m grateful you’ll be kind. I won’t be open, either, but we’ll be ok as long as we’re both honest. I expect you to be mildly amusing, but for you to believe you’re being fucking hilarious. I know you’ll make me laugh. I hope to see your smile._

_I know I’d enjoy kissing you. Whoever you are, dear friend, kissing is just fun._

_I understand if this scares you off and you don’t show up, but I also won’t say I won’t be upset. I’ll be heartbroken. Forgive me for guilt-tripping you. Forgive me for how I’ll fuck this up._

_My dear friend, I’ll see you soon._

_Sincerely,  
Art_

\----

Five more hours, seventeen minutes, and twenty-two seconds to go.

Isak is putting price stickers on upside down, shelving returns before he’s scanned them in, and either shortchanging customers or giving them unintentional discounts.

He knew he’d receive another letter before his date, but he didn’t consider the effect it could have on him. As though he wasn’t nervous enough, it’s clear Art has expectations of him he will not meet. He didn’t take Isak seriously when he explained his anger. It’s not going to fucking disappear if he holds Isak’s hand.

Isak still wants him to hold his hand.

He thinks he’s _remarkable._ Nothing about Isak is worthy of remark. And brave, brave is really just another word for fucking stupid. Art’s expecting a hero, someone to save him, and Isak made it _very_ clear he’s not capable of that.

Maybe he could make him laugh, though.

The worst part is, this letter’s made him like Art even more. He’s so fucking good. He’s so fucking kind to Isak. But he sees himself as a villain, which really, what the actual fuck? Isak’s been writing an essay in his mind as to why that’s bullshit since he read the letter. _You’re self-aware and apologetic, and you told me assholes are neither of those things. You’re forgiving (to everyone but yourself, what has your therapist told you about that?). You indulge my pity parties and say nice things about me when you really don’t have to. You care enough to be thoughtful, and you are thoughtful enough to care. You are fucking great._

Plus, he is funny, and smart, and in all likelihood, a good kisser. God, Isak could actually fall in love with him. Five more hours, sixteen minutes, and fifty-three seconds to go.

“Isak?” Isak snaps back to reality, turning to Eva. They’re shelving returns together. “I don’t mean to criticize, but you put the last three DVDs on the shelf upside down.”

“Oh. Fuck.” Isak finds the DVDs and corrects his mistake. “Sorry. I'm off today.”

“You’re a disaster.”

“Wasn’t asking for your opinion, but noted.”

“I’m kind of worried about you.” Eva puts her stack of DVDs back on the shelving cart and moves it so it blocks the aisle, preventing customers from interfering in their personal lives. “You usually don’t work hard enough to make mistakes.”

“Thanks for being a friend.”

“I’m serious! You haven’t stopped since you got here, but your mind’s clearly somewhere else.” Eva nudges him with her elbow. “Come on, Isak. If you finally have something interesting happening in your life, I need to know about it.”

Isak sighs, knowing Eva is relentless. She will know the gossip, whether she hears it from him or finds out his own. “I have a date.” Eva gasps, which is a _bit_ much. “It’s not that surprising, is it?”

“It is that you’re so worked up about it! Who is it? Where are you going? When? Tonight? Isak!”

“It’s just this guy.” Based on past experience, he will not give Eva the opportunity to make him a Tinder profile again. “It’s tonight. Actually, we’re going to that place you like. _Tea for Two_?”

“You are?” Eva repeats, then furrows her eyebrows. “Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is this guy again?”

He should have known that answer wouldn’t be enough. “It’s a blind date, ok? I don’t _know him_ know him, but we’ve talked. I like him.”

“So you don’t have a picture? Or know his name?”

Isak shakes his head, expecting judgement. Instead, Eva nods and says, “Huh. Interesting. I’m going to, uh, see if Jonas needs help up front, but good luck tonight. I really hope it goes well.”

Her sincerity makes Isak wonder exactly how pathetic he comes across. “Thank you?”

 

Once she’s gone, Isak resumes his countdown. Five hours, fourteen minutes, and thirty-nine seconds to go.

It is a very long day.

\---

“Thanks for coming with me.”

Jonas nods, quieter than Isak expected given tonight’s potential to change Isak’s entire life. It’s possible Isak’s worked himself up even more as the day’s gone on. “Don’t want your blood on my hands if this guy’s a murderer.”

Isak’s wearing his coat over a t-shirt with a picture of Nicolas Cage's face and the caption: _A National Treasure._ As they approach the café, he says, “So, you’ll go in first and just give me a quick summary, tell me what to expect. I hope you can recognize him. We’re doing the favourite movie thing, but I don’t actually know what his _is_ —”

“I’m sure I’ll recognize him.”

“Well, he’ll be there alone, and he’ll probably look like he’s looking for someone—”

“Isak.” They’re at the café, but Jonas stops them outside of the door. “Ok. Don’t be mad.”

“Mad about what?”

“Eva told me about your date tonight—”

“The date you already knew about?”

“Let me finish, ok?” Isak nods, confusion driving his compliance. “She figured I knew, but she told me because Even also has a date tonight.”

“Fuck, can we not talk about Even tonight?”

“Ok, but you might have to talk to him. Even's date is also here, at eight, with a stranger." 

“What?”

“Isak. You and Even have been writing love letters to each other.”

Wait—no. _No._ It doesn’t make sense, because Even is obnoxious, but Art is endearing. Even is entitled, but Art doesn’t believe he deserves anything. Even is an asshole, but Art is good.

Isak is shaking his head, but Jonas is nodding his.

And Isak is fucking furious. He actually thought he might fall in love tonight.

“Why are you telling me _now_? Why did you let me come here?”

“Before you freak out—”

“Did you tell him? Or did Eva?”

“What? Fuck, no. Of course not.”

“So you’re both playing a matchmaker game with us because it’s funny?”

“Isak, we did not match you together, we didn’t write the letters, and we didn’t suggest you meet tonight. You guys did this all on your own because, surprise, you like each other.”

“I hate Even.”

“No you don’t, Isak. You don’t even know him. You know who wrote the letters though, right? Art or whatever? He’s who Even actually is, and you like him.”

“Fuck, you really sold me out for Mikael.”

“What the fuck?”

“Even is terrible to me, but he’s Mikael’s best friend, so I guess now you’re best friends too.” As Isak says it, he knows he sounds like a child, and he’s so fucking embarrassed by this whole night that he just wants to go home. “I’m sorry, I’m just—let’s leave. Let’s leave, and get really drunk, and forget this was ever a thing."

Jonas shakes his head. “I’m _your_ best friend, and that’s why I didn’t tell you until we got here. You’re going in, because you really would be an asshole if you left him sitting there alone. You can’t do that to him, and you can’t do it to yourself either. Just try, Isak.”

It’s the same advice Isak gave himself when he agreed to the date in the first place. At least try. But, for fuck’s sake. With _Even_?

“I never would’ve told Even what I wrote in those letters.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing he feels the same about you. You’ll both be embarrassed. It’ll be awkward as hell, but hey, there’s something for you to talk about. Isn’t this really fucking weird?”

“And then,” Jonas continues when Isak doesn’t come back with anything. “Apologize for the real-life shit, talk about the letters, and get to know each other. Go on a fucking date. If it’s shit, text me, and we will get really drunk tonight. If you want, I can hang out at the café across the street for a bit—”

“God, no. I’ll be fine. Thank you, though.” Once Isak’s said it, he’s realized he’s implicitly agreed to giving this a try. Fucking Jonas. “I’m sorry I’m an asshole.”

Jonas shrugs. “I’m used to it. I wish you’d stop assuming the entire universe is against you, though."

Well, given the evidence. “I’ll text you later.”

“Ok.” Jonas grins wider than the mood calls for her. “I actually think this might work out very well.”

Isak flips him off as he leaves, then walks inside before he can convince himself not to. Even’s in the corner, drumming his fingers against the table. He can never fucking sit still. He’s wearing a t-shirt with a picture of an aquarium and the caption: _I’d Tap That._ What movie is _that_ from?

When he walks over, Even catches his eye. And Isak understands the concept of stealing someone’s happiness, because it’s evident in the way Even’s face falls.

Fuck. He did not want it to be Even, but he forgot that Even definitely didn’t want it to be him.

“What are you doing here?”

Isak realizes his coat is still done up. Technically, all Even knows is that Isak is here, not that he is Even’s dear fucking friend. Even so, his presence seems to have ruined Even’s entire evening.

Fuck, he’s stupid. Everything they’ve warned each other about in the letters has already come true. He was angry with Even, and he hurt him. And Even, he said it himself, he tricks people into thinking he’s someone he’s not. Isak was right about him, and the letters—

Oh, the letters were not real. They’re part of the fantasy Even plays in real life, forgetting that he’s dealing with people and not characters. They’re _romantic_ , and _charming_ , and fake, fake, _so fucking fake._ And he fucking fell for it. Isak wants to punch something. He does not want Even to hold his fucking hand.

He can’t do either, so he settles for somewhere in-between. He sits down. “Just getting a coffee.”

“Ok. Well. You order over there.”

“I’d like to talk to you first.”

“I’ve really enjoyed this avoiding each other thing we’ve tried at work. Let’s continue that.”

“You won’t have coffee with a dear friend?”

“Fuck off, Isak.” He doesn’t even bristle; Isak must make him _that_ mad. Well, fucking likewise. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Oh?” Isak raises his eyebrows and grins. “A date?”

“Yeah, and I don’t want him to see us together.”

“Because I’m sure this looks very romantic."

“What is wrong with you?”

Isak already fucking told him in the letter. He leans back in his chair. “I bet you’re great at first dates.”

“Isak. I’m not doing this.”

“No, I mean it. I bet you’ll whisper sweet nothings in his ear, promise him you’re someone you’re not. Oh, he’ll be swept off his feet, Even! Just like a movie! The second date will be good, too. Maybe even the third. What happens after that, though? When he realizes all you can give him are pretty words?”

Even’s almost quiet long enough for Isak to feel guilty, but not quite.

“At least I’m trying, Isak. I was wrong when I said you were going to lose everything. You don’t _have_ anything. You’re pissed your life is shit, fine, but do you know what? People don’t like you because you’re mean. You’re at a shit job because a degree doesn’t actually make you talented or ambitious. You’re lazy, you’re fucking entitled, you're an asshole, and Isak, I am beyond done entertaining it. Please, if you have any kindness in you at all, you’ll leave me the fuck alone.”

Yeah. That’s probably for the best.

Isak leaves Even to get his heartbroken.

\---

Isak doesn’t text Jonas.

He runs home, and he’s crying. He’s just—he truly thought he could fall in love tonight. And now the one thing in his life that made him happy broke his heart, like he should have fucking expected.

Even’s right. He’s right. He doesn’t have anything, and he was a fucking idiot to think this would become something for him. He shouldn’t have tried. He shouldn’t have been _open to love_ because no one wants to love him. He knows this. He fucking knows this.

Once Isak’s home, he finds all the letters. He crumples them up, throws them against the wall, on the ground—it’s not working. Nothing is fucking working. He doesn’t feel better, he can’t feel better—

He could rip them—fuck that. He could burn them.

He looks for his lighter. He can’t remember when he last used it. It’s not like he’s hosting birthday parties or barbecues. For him, fire is not light, heat, or power: it’s destruction.

God, he hates himself.

When he can’t find the lighter, he sits down against the wall on his kitchen floor. He’s tired. He’s too tired to take any sort of action, and maybe he should have a glass of water? Or eat something? If he had someone here to love him, what would they suggest?

It doesn’t matter, does it? Isak doesn't get to count on that. 

He’s so tired, and he’s still holding the letters.

He doesn’t know what to do but read them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes Act One. I know this one hurts. I promise I'll pull them through it. 
> 
> Come talk (or yell) to me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)


	7. How Long Can I Pretend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi again. I don't know if we've all recovered from last chapter, and I'd love to say this one will give you some hope before Christmas, but. We need to spend some time in Even's POV first. (If you do want some holiday fluff, I posted two oneshots on Wednesday. How's that for shameless self-promotion?)
> 
> I have to thank my lovely friend Marta who drew Isak at the end of last chapter. You can find it on [ her tumblr](https://mfrov95.tumblr.com/post/168587389501/once-isaks-home-he-finds-all-the-letters-he). I highly recommend following her because all of her art is incredible (and not all this sad!). 
> 
> I'm on tumblr [here](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com). Wishing you all well this holiday season, and I hope you enjoy.

Even wakes up with a broken heart, but it’s not like it’s the first time.

If anything, this is where he feels the most comfortable. The gratitude he felt since moving back home, the hope—well, those are romantic emotions, and romance is a trick. He knows that better than anyone.

Love, though. He still believes in that, absolutely. It’s just not for him. He doesn’t get to love someone because no one wants the kind of love he offers.

It’s fine. It will have to be fine.

Even’s usually alone in the mornings as Mikael tends to sleep past noon, but today he’s reading in the living room. There’s a to-go coffee and cinnamon bun on the counter, and the radio’s tuned to the pop station Even likes.

Even takes the food and joins Mikael on the couch. “Thank you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’re welcome.”

“I’m fine, though.”

Mikael puts his book down. “Well. You’ve told me that before.”

And Even knows he won’t get out of talking about this. “Look, I was stood up. It happens. It’s not even the first time it’s happened to me.”

“But it’s different with him. You waited until the café closed.”

Oh, yeah. He may have done that, but why wouldn’t he? He’d already waited so long for a dear friend like him, so of course he’d wait a couple of hours more.

In that time, he began to see what Eva did in the café. No, it did not have the appearance, sound, or scent of romance, but that meant there were no distractions from the love around him. There was a boy and a girl who proved it was possible to gaze into someone’s eyes. A girl who snorted when she laughed at her girlfriend’s jokes, but didn’t seem embarrassed at all. Two boys who held hands as they whispered confessions to each other: _I could fall in love with you_ followed by _Good, because I’ve already fallen._

Even just sat and waited his turn.

But anyway, they covered all of this last night when Even got home. Maybe something came up. Maybe the fact that Even’s t-shirt was a reference to the aquarium scene in _Romeo and Juliet_ was a little too obscure. Maybe he saw him with Isak and assumed Even wasn’t the boy who he was looking for.

Maybe he’d receive a letter that explains everything, but Even already knows the explanation.

His dear friend was on board until he received the last letter, the one in which Even made a few more confessions. _I worry I’ll be something else for you to be angry about. Someone you thought you could love, but ultimately did not._ He must’ve read the letter and realized Even was right.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s for the best,” Even says. “At least I don’t have to worry about breaking his heart later. Isak was right. I’d give him a few good dates, but then—I don’t have to tell you. You’ve see how things end up for me.”

“Oh, fuck off with that. Isak wasn’t right. Isak’s a spiteful asshole.”

“It happened with Sonja.” In high school, Even swept the most grounded girl he knew off her feet. But when he put her down and they had to stand together, side-by-side, he was too impulsive, too intense, too much. He hurt her, and while she hurt him too, Even will always feel responsible for leaving her standing alone.

“You were seventeen Even, fuck. And there’s a hell of a lot more to that story than you tell. It’s not a simple narrative where you’re the villain. You weren’t right for each other.”

“Maybe I’m not right for anyone.”

“For fuck’s sake, ok.” Mikael stands up. “I’m getting the chart.”

“That’s really not necessary—”

But Mikael’s already gone to his bedroom, returning with a piece of Bristol board. It displays a pie chart titled _Why Even Bech Næsheim is great._ And sure, 75% of it is that he knows where to get weed, but another 10% says that he’s a good listener, another 10% says that he’s funny, and a final 5% says that he knows how to love.

His friends made it for him when he returned home and, ok. He has good friends, so he will be absolutely fine if he never gets to love someone the way he wants to. He can not only move on from this, but from all his romantic notions. He will stop singing for someone to lava because he cannot let love drive him to extinction again.

“When do you have to work?” Mikael asks.

“Not until noon.” He’s scheduled with Isak and Eva today, and his plan is to handle Isak by avoiding him. Even has not had the energy to feel guilty about what he said to him, and anyway. He meant it.

“We should watch something stupid. Like, _Transformers_ stupid. Shit blowing up.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

He’s tired of love stories, anyway.

Halfway through the movie, someone buzzes up to their apartment. “Oh, fuck,” Mikael says. “I invited Jonas over since he’s not working today. I can tell him to leave.”

“No, don’t do that.” Even knows what it’s like to think you might fall in love, and then to know you won’t. He’d never do that to his best friend. “It’s fine.”

Mikael hesitates, but lets Jonas anyway. When Jonas enters the apartment, he does a double-take upon seeing Even. “Hi,” he says. “You’re here.”

“I do live here,” Even says.

“No, I know, but….” Jonas knits his brows together. “Isak didn’t say anything, so I assumed—”

“Isak?” Even asks as Mikael says, “Oh, so Isak told you what shit he pulled last night?”

Jonas’s confusion fades into understanding, but Even’s still a step behind. “No. He didn’t.”

Mikael launches into the story, making it more dramatic than it truly was. Or, maybe that’s how Even told Mikael the story when he finally got home, because he remembers how amplified everything felt. What a tricky emotion hope is, and how awful it felt to lose it first when Isak confronted him, and then when his dear friend never showed up. Mikael doesn’t recount when Even said to Isak, because Even didn’t tell Mikael that part. 

He was so angry, and he doesn’t really get angry. He’s trying not to be as he hears the story again.

“Even, I’m really sorry,” Jonas says. His sincerity proves why Mikael’s falling for him. “Really, that was fucked up of him. And I’m sorry your date didn’t show up, either.”

“It’s ok. I don’t—I can’t care about what Isak says anymore.”

Jonas nods, though he looks sad. “Yeah. I guess that’s fair.”

They watch the rest of the movie together, and Even notices everything. The way Mikael teases Jonas, and the way Jonas rolls his eyes at him in return. How hesitant Mikael is to put his hand over Jonas’s, and how gratefully Jonas accepts it. That Mikael is desperate to make Jonas laugh, and that Jonas treasures his smile.

Even wonders if his dear friend is smiling. He kind of hopes he isn’t, because it’s not like Even’s laughing.

He reaches for the remote and turns the volume up.

\---

For the first time since he started at _Small Screen_ , Even is early for work. He’s not about to give Isak more ammo, nor will he give him the homefield advantage. These are as much his friends as they are Isak’s.

He’s surprised when Eva’s next in, and he tells her as much. “Oh, Noora,” Eva says with the kind of smile Mikael was wearing when he left. “She believes in being punctual, but who the fuck cares, tell me about your date!”

That’s something else about hope. When you invite others into it, they are forced to share in your disappointment as well. He feels like he’s being incredibly unfair to bring Eva’s mood down. “He didn’t show up.”

“Wait, what? Are you sure?”

“I waited until the café closed." 

“ _What_?” Even was expecting sympathy and maybe a lie— _he doesn’t deserve you, anyway_ —but not anger like this. “What a dick!”

“No, it’s fine. He probably read something in my last letter and realized, you know. It’s not meant to be.”

“No, fuck that! He should have at least tried! I can’t believe he left you sitting there, alone—oh my God, what an asshole. Even, I swear, I will kill him.”

“I’d have to know his name first.”

Eva pauses, and the chance to breathe seems to give her new perspective. “How are you? Are you ok?”

“It hurts, but.” Even shrugs. “I’ve been hurt before.”

Isak comes in, and of course Even has to look up when the door opens, of course they have to make eye-contact. He stares for longer than he intends to because Isak looks different than he’s ever seen him.

Nervous. Even didn’t think Isak cared enough about anything to get nervous. Well, good.

“Excuse me,” Eva says. “I’m going to ask Isak to open the store with me. We have some stuff to talk about, anyway. But Even, if you need to talk, or anything at all…”

“Thank you, but I’m ok.”

Even feels like he should help open, but that would go against his plan to keep as much distance between himself and Isak as possible. As they work, Vilde comes in, and Even decides to take advantage of the opportunity.

“I have some ideas as to how we can market the movie night at the library,” Even says before she even has her coat off.

Vilde blinks at him, glances over her shoulder at Eva and Isak, then nods. “Ok. Let’s get to work.”

\---

Using Sana’s office, Even and Vilde work.

Even creates watch-a-like lists. Vilde schedules Instagram posts and tweets. Even suggests they film a trailer for the event, but lets it go when Vilde only gives him a _hm_ in response.

“It’s too much,” Even says.

“Probably,” Vilde says. “But I can’t go back out there right now.”

And, oh. Of course. “You and Eva are officially…?”

“We were never officially anything, so.” Vilde smiles. “It’s not like we broke up.”

“Something still ended, though.”

“Yeah." 

He can’t feel guilty for suggesting Eva pursue things with Noora when that’s clearly what she wanted, but he hates that it’s left Vilde like this. “It’s ok if you’re sad about it.”

“I’m not sad.” Vilde shakes her head and smiles again. “I wasn’t in love with Eva. She wasn’t in love with me. I always knew it would end.”

“But you didn’t want it to.”

“Maybe it was nice to pretend that I got to be in love, too.”

Even understands that so deeply it breaks his heart. He didn’t realize he had room for more cracks.

He won’t tell her there’s someone for her. Maybe there isn’t. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She smiles yet again, and it makes Even realize how often she doesn’t. “We could, but what will that change?”

“It might help you feel better.”

“Or we could talk about this trailer.”

“Vilde—”

“What kind of editing software do you have?”

And Even’s not an idiot. He didn’t study films not to notice parallels, and he didn’t go through therapy not to have modicum of self-awareness. Eventually, Mikael will stop pitying him, he won’t have work to distract him, and he’ll have to go to bed alone. It’ll just be him and his thoughts again.

His thoughts are so rarely kind, but that doesn’t mean he can avoid them. He has to feel this hurt. He has to talk about it.

There’s Mikael, of course. Even his parents. But he needs to be honest, and there’s only one person he’s promised to be completely honest with.

Even tells Vilde he’ll work on the trailer’s script, then begins to write what he has to.

_Dear Stranger,_

_I’ve spent all day pretending I’m ok. I’m not. I’m heartbroken._

_Fuck you._


	8. Vanilla Ice Cream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the title. I swear this one's more hopeful. :) Enjoy!

_Dear Stranger,_

_I’ve spent all day pretending I’m ok. I’m not. I’m heartbroken._

_Fuck you._

_Imagine a wide-shot of a café. There’s people in every corner, and it’s loud: each noise indistinguishable from the ones around it. It’s the kind of volume love creates, when you feel so much that it spills out of you, disguises itself as laughter and gentle touches._

_Then, a jerky transition to a close-up. It’s one man, alone. It should be quiet, but he’s tapping his fingers against the table. He gets louder and louder as time goes on, but he can’t drown out the love around him. It’s too long of a shot, so long that it’s uncomfortable. Eventually, he slams his mug on the table, gets up, and leaves. Once he’s outside, it’s completely silent._

_It’s sad, right? I believe you are caring enough to understand that’s sad. I don’t understand why you don’t care about me anymore._

_I have to believe it’s because of something in my letter. I told you what I do. I overthink, to try fix my fuck-ups. So I’m trying to remember what I said in order to overthink it, because it’s not like I have a back-up copy of the letter saved on the cloud. I just wrote it and trusted to you. It’s entirely yours now._

_I gave you everything, and you kept it for yourself without giving me anything in return. I know I’m being dramatic. I don’t care. I understand what your anger must feel like. I don’t know how the fuck you survive if you feel like this all the time._

_My point is that you have the letter. Tell me what I said wrong._

_You should have shown up anyway. You should have met me and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t think this will work.” Actually, I don’t know if I’d feel better if you’d done that, if I’d known you only to lose you. I just think it’s what you should have done._

_I remember that I told you I’d be heartbroken. In my letter. If you didn’t show up, I’d be heartbroken._

_Did you really just not care?_

_I did see someone last night. My coworker. He’s an asshole--I suspect you two would get along. He told me all I had to offer a date was pretty words, so congratulations. You got everything you could out of me._

_But that’s not all these words are. Of course they’re pretty. I’m a fucking artist. They’re also honest, and I have to believe yours were as well. Do you not realize how spectacular it is to be honest with someone and still like each other at the end of it? That’s not a romance. That’s a fucking love story._

_I really believe that I could have loved you. And you fucked it up. Someone should have taught you to write your promises down._

_I would sign-off with Sincerely because this is sincere, but I don’t want to give you that sweetness right now. And my name isn’t Art. It’s Even._

_I’m just going to end this here._

_PS: If this is a misunderstanding and there’s an explanation for last night, I am truly sorry. I don’t think that’s the case, though. This isn’t a movie._

\---

Isak reread every letter.

And God, Art was so pretentious, right from the beginning. But unlike Even, he undercut it with self-deprecation, humour that made Isak roll his eyes before he smiled. He always ended up smiling.

He was thoughtful, and when Isak read about his therapist, he knew that might not be by choice. Isak believed someone as charming and confident as Even would have the luxury of never examining himself, one he’s always coveted.

He was kind. He cared for Isak, and instead of using his life against him like Even did, he offered to help him through it. To build a home together.

Out of everything, Isak keeps thinking about a line from the very first letter. _My friend says I edit my movies too much, that I lose the story’s honesty when I think too much about what it should be._

It was not supposed to be Even. Isak was not supposed to get a happy ending. That was never going to be his story.

But now, Isak’s stuck on a line in the latest letter, the one he never expected to receive.

_And my name isn’t Art. It’s Even._

He wasn’t honest about that, but that doesn’t make everything else he told Isak about himself, or about who they could be together, untrue. It just means that his name is Even, and Even is funny, thoughtful, and kind, and Even could have fallen in love with him.

Isak regrets trying to control the story. He should have just lived it.

The guilt came long before the letter. Eva approached Isak at work with a determination he knew not to fuck with, the same look she wore when she called Jonas out on judging customers’ taste, insisted that Sana return Yousef’s texts, and once told Isak that he would never like his life if he didn’t put any effort into it.

“Can you explain something to me?” she asked. “Yesterday, you told me you were going on a date with a guy you liked. Today, that guy you liked told me he was stood up. What the fuck happened, Isak?”

“You know it was Even.”

“Yeah, that’s not a change! He’s the same person!” When Isak didn’t have a retort ready, Eva’s resolve faded. “Look, I know it was a surprise, but he was just sitting there alone. For hours. You could have at least tried.”

“You should have seen his face when he saw me walk in.” At Eva’s confusion, Isak continued. “I tried, Eva. I went in, but he very clearly didn’t want it to be me. And I didn’t really want it to be him, so.”

“So you didn’t even give it a chance?”

“What’s the point? It’s not like we were going to fall in love, and we really fucking know how to hurt each other.”

“Maybe that also means you know how to love each other.”

“You watch too many movies.”

Eva frowned. “Ok, it’s not fair that you’re doing that with your face.”

“What exactly am I doing with my face?”

“The sad thing! God, the two of you. You both look so fucking sad today.”

And then that was all Isak could notice, how sad Even looked—even with customers. He couldn’t look away from it, the way he’d seemed to permanently contort a face known for its smile. No, he never liked Even, but he doesn’t exactly like this either.

His anger always turns to guilt, and he’d been so angry.

Jonas was gentler. Just a text: _Let me know if you want to talk about it. It’s cool if you don’t._ Isak never responded, and they’ve texted and talked about many things since.

But now Isak’s read the latest later, and he wants to reply. _Dear Even, I’m sorry. Dear Even, your coworker does sound like an asshole. Dear Even, please do not believe I’m worth being heartbroken over._

Isak doesn’t want to confess. He’s not naïve enough to believe he and Even can move past this and have the love story they promised each other. Hell, he’s not even sure he wants that. Though rereading the letters has given him a new perspective, the words Even said to him in the café are as loud as the ones he wrote in his letter. It’s not like Even can’t be cruel himself, and Isak suspects that would make them a dangerous couple.

Plus, Isak remembers the last words Even said to him: _Please, if you have any kindness in you at all, you’ll leave me the fuck alone._ And Isak likes to believe he has some of that in him, so that’s what he’ll do. The letter will give them both closure, that’s all.

He just needs some help with it.

**Jonas**

I’m ready to talk now

Are we still talking about who’s buying beer this weekend

No. That’s you.

That conversation isn’t over but yeah  
We can talk about the other thing

Thanks

I’m out with Mikael but we’ll be at his place in 30  
Meet me there and we’ll find somewhere else to go?

Is Even home?

Yeah but he’s sick  
Probably still sleeping

Ok. I’ll come over.

\---

Isak stops to buy beer because he’s trying to be a good friend. And he wants to get really fucking drunk.

Since Even is sick and Isak’s been an asshole, he decides to get something for him too. He’ll just leave at the apartment, won’t even say it’s from him. It’s selfish, really: Isak’s goal is to clear his conscience.

He likes ice cream when he’s sick, so that’s what he settles on. Vanilla because he doesn’t know what fucking flavor Even would like, and buying this feels risky enough. He’s not about to take a chance on something like basil ice cream.

It’s 40 minutes before he’s at Mikael’s, so he just knocks. When Even opens the door, Isak thinks he should know his luck well enough not to be surprised by that.

But Even barely reacts, just sighs like he’s as tired as he looks. “What do you want, Isak?” His eyes and nose are red, and his voice is scratchy and broken.

“Uh, Jonas said he was here?”

“He’s out with Mikael. They should be back soon.”

“Yeah.

“How’d you even get up here?”

“Someone holding the door let me in.”

“They’re not supposed to do that.”

“Well. They did.”

And then they’re quiet, because Even’s too kind to slam the door in his face, and Isak seems to have forgotten what words are. Finally, he says, “…I’ll just wait in the hall?”

Even’s eyes drift towards Isak’s hands. “Your ice cream will melt.”

“Oh!” Isak shakes his head and hands the grocery bag to Even. “That’s for you, actually.”

“For me?”

“Because you’re sick?”

Even pulls the container out of the bag, studying it the way the police would examine an abandoned suitcase. “Is it poisoned?”

“The seal’s still intact. Go ahead, check.”

Even pulls the lid off and pokes at the plastic underneath. “So you just did a nice thing.”

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“I was coming over here anyway, but—yeah. Consider it a peace offering.”

Now Even’s studying Isak like he studied the ice cream, but he ultimately opens the door wider. “Ok. Come in.”

“I really don’t mind waiting out here—”

“Consider it a peace offering.”

Isak enters the apartment because he doesn’t know how to insist on waiting in the hall. As he texts Jonas to ask where the fuck he is, Even pulls two bowls and one spoon out of his drying rack. “Do you mind using a measuring spoon?” Even asks. “We only really do dishes out of necessity.”

“Oh, I don’t want any.”

“Well, I’m not going to sit here and eat it in front of you, and I want some.”

Isak smiles, and Even seems as surprised by it as Isak is. “Then a measuring spoon is fine.” For something to say, he asks, “Do you like vanilla?”

“Of course. Who doesn’t like vanilla?”

“I thought you might want something more fun.”

“I like that it’s a flavor with potential. It feels like it could be so many different things.”

That strikes Isak as something Art would say. “It’s just fucking vanilla, though.”

Even laughs, and— _oh_. That’s the sound Isak’s been waiting to hear.

They take their ice cream to the couch. Even unpauses the TV, and when Nicolas Cage’s face appears on screen, Isak nearly drops his bowl. “You’re watching _National Treasure_?”

“Yeah. Mikael’s insisted I only watch stupid movies for at least a month.”

Isak scoffs. “It’s a classic.”

“Oh, I agree with you. Some would say it’s the greatest love story of our time.”

It is so fucking weird to think about Even thinking about him.

Isak’s phone buzzes, informing him that Jonas will be at least another ten minutes, and while he’s sorry, it’s all Mikael’s fault. Isak relays the message to Even, who shrugs. “Mikael’s not known for his punctuality.”

“Neither are you.”

Even hums. “There it is.”

“What?”

“I was wondering how long we’d go before you insulted me.”

And Isak doesn’t think that’s totally fair. “That’s not the same, though—I’m not trying to be mean, it’s just fucking banter.”

“Do you really think we have the kind of relationship that allows for fun banter?”

Isak shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Not just for that, for—I’ve been such an asshole to you.”

Even turns away from the TV and towards Isak, but all he says is, “Ok.”

“Especially the other night at the café. That was just—I was angry about something else, and you were there. I have no idea what you could offer someone. Probably a lot more than I could, so I really am sorry for what I said. And that your date didn’t show up. I think he made a mistake.”

Even furrows his eyebrows. “How do you know he didn’t show up?”

 _Fuck_. Isak coughs to stall. “Uh. Eva.”

Even nods and Isak starts to breathe again. “I appreciate the apology, Isak, but I’m not exactly ready to forgive and forget here.”

“Ok.”

“And if you’re expecting an apology for what I said—I’m sorry that I was mean, but I can’t honestly tell you that I didn’t mean it.”

“That’s fine. I just wanted to apologize.”

They eat and watch the movie in silence until Jonas and Mikael come home. Mikael’s apologizing for both of them until he spots Isak and Even on the couch, at which point he interrupts himself to say, “What the fuck?”

“Isak bought me ice cream,” Even says.

Jonas stares as Mikael says, “Well fuck, you better share with me.”

“You’ll have to wash another bowl. And spoon.”

“Even, this is why we should never have friends over.”

But Isak and Even aren't friends. They’re coworkers who hate each other, but also write anonymous love letters to each other that only one of them knows about. Isak’s not sure how to navigate their relationship from here, but he’s not too keen on closure anymore.

Not when he’s finally heard his laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably more suited for Even's POV next chapter, but let me encourage you to watch my favourite performance of [Vanilla Ice Cream](https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=2&v=6GElRxJXo8I). It is a delight. 
> 
> Chat with me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)


	9. Will Wonders Never Cease?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that I (finally) updated the chapter count. After this one, there's two chapters + an epilogue left. I'm going to be so sad to let go of this story, but I'm excited to write these final chapters as well.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [here](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com). 
> 
> Enjoy!

It doesn’t end with ice cream.

When Even arrives at work, late, Isak greets him with a _hey, how are you?_ instead of a glare. He asks for Even’s help when he struggles to find recommendations for a customer. He compliments the promotional materials Even created with Vilde. He invites Even into conversation with their coworkers, and if he’s quiet, he asks him questions. Then, and this is what surprises Even the most, he listens to Even’s answers.

Even’s tried to analyze the situation with Mikael, but Mikael is more cynical than Even enjoys being. “Ok, so he did his good deed,” Mikael said. “He bought you ice cream and apologized to clear his conscience. What does that change?”

At first, Even’s answer was: nothing, really. He appreciated the apology, but couldn’t accept it unless he saw an actual change in Isak. And now, he has. Sure, he’s not exactly a prince, but Even can’t call him an asshole anymore either. He just seems to be trying his best to be decent.

Even can’t fault anyone for that.

A week after the Ice Cream Incident, which is how Even’s started to measure time, Sana calls a meeting after they close to finalize logistics for their event at the library. “I’d like to get volunteers to help Noora set-up, people who can arrange the displays and be available if any patrons want to chat beforehand.” Eva raises her hand, but Sana shakes her head. “And preferably not someone who will kiss our host. We have Vilde as a last resort, or I can do it, but I’d prefer for it to be clerks who know the collection and actually interact with customers.”

“I take it there’s no pay for the extra time?” Jonas asks.

“No. Which is why, as I say, I’ll do it if needed. I thought I’d see if anyone else is interested first.”

“I’ll do it,” Even says because well, of course he well. Despite his issues with Isak, his job has remained the best part of his life. He’s surrounded by stories and gets to help people find the ones that’ll heal them, or make them laugh—or maybe that’s one in the same. It feels almost noble, and Even considers it to be the best work he’s done. If this event will get more people to _Small Screen_ , or even allow _Small Screen_ to operate for another year, that’s more than worth his time.

And Even’s not quiet about any of that, ever, so Sana simply nods. It’s the next volunteer that raises her eyebrows.

“Me too.”

Isak meets everyone’s confusion with his own frustration. “What?” he asks. “I want to help.”

“You,” Sana repeats. “Want to help.”

“Yes.”

“You, _Isak_ , want to work. For free.”

 _“_ Yes.”

“With him?” Sana gestures towards Even, who looks down in embarrassment. He hates that his thing with Isak has affected his work, especially since Sana basically gave him this job as a favour.

“ _Yes.”_

“Well, ok then.”

And that’s strange, Even thinks. Isak’s been so kind, and so strange—ever since the ice cream. What changed for him? It couldn’t have only been their meeting at the café: he still gave Even the silent treatment for a few days after that. Perhaps it was just a consistent, nagging conscience, because that’s what’s currently making Even consider changing his behaviour as well.

He was so mean at the café. Fucking cruel, really, because he wanted to hurt Isak, and that’s really sitting in his stomach now.

After they work out a few more details, Sana dismisses them. Eva and Jonas are quick to follow her out the door, but Isak lingers. “My tram doesn’t come for a bit, so,” he explains, and Even nods. He doesn’t have a reason to stick around himself, other than now that they’re alone, and his mind’s confused, and his stomach’s twisting, he wants to talk to Isak.

“Why’d you offer to volunteer?” Even asks.

“Wanted to do my part for once?” Isak says. “I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“What I said?” Even asks because, despite Isak’s sudden personality change, they really haven’t had that many conversations.

“Yeah. At the café.”

And, oh. That’s—not really what Even wanted. “When I was a dick to you?”

Isak laughs. “So you remember.”

“Well.”

“Then you remember I was a dick first.” Even smiles instead of voicing his agreement. “But anyway, you were right about me, but not entirely. See, I’ve been really into navel-gazing lately.”

“Ah, one of my favourite hobbies as well.”

“So, you said that I was mean, lazy, entitled—am I missing anything?”

“Asshole. I specifically called you an asshole.”

“Right. And that’s true, I can be all of those things, but I don’t have to be. You know? And when you said I had nothing, at first I believed you, but I’ve got friends. A job. Fuck, I’ve even got an enemy.”

“You’re basically a superhero.”

Isak’s face crinkles in a way Even hasn’t quite seen before, one that allows him to smile.

It’s a really fucking nice look.

“Yeah, I thought that was obvious.” Even laughs, and that widens Isak’s smile. They’ve never communicated like this before, which is a shame, because Even feels like he understands it better than any words they’ve spoken to each other. “You always get us off-topic, fuck. What I’m saying is that I realized I should try to be grateful for those things and maybe put some fucking effort into them.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing lately,” Even says. “Putting the effort in.”

“Yeah. Shockingly, I prefer it to being angry all the time.”

“No one could have predicted that.”

Isak's smile hasn't faded, but now it's accompanied by an eye-roll. It's kind of cute. “I don't know. I’ve realized I don’t want to lose any of this. I care about this place. And about Sana, Jonas, Eva….”

“Me?”

“Now.”

“Now is good.”

“Definitely better than the past.”

While Even’s glad Isak appears to have reached self-actualization, the knot in his own stomach is as tight as ever. “I still shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

“Even—”

“Because what you’ve said is true. I made it sound like you were hopeless, and you’re not. I don’t really believe anyone is. I’m sorry for that.”

Isak shrugs. “I hurt you, you hurt me. Can’t say it wasn’t a fair fight.”

“But for everything before, too. I never tried to be nice to you, even though I knew….”

“You knew…?”

“That you were going through shit of your own.”

Isak hums. “Doesn’t excuse me being an asshole, though.”

“No. I don’t think I really have excuses, either. I just wish we didn’t hurt each other at all.”

“Me too.”

And that’s about it, all they have to say to each other. They hurt each other, badly, but they’re both sorry, truly, and now they’re here.

Even’s willing to try again. Especially if it means he gets to see Isak smile more.

“But about that night,” Isak says. “At the café, and your date—is your heart still broken?”

Even stares, surprised. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering if I should buy you more ice cream.”

“Oh, see now I’m torn,” Even says. “Because my heart’s ok right now, but I want you to continue buying me things, so yes. Completely heartbroken.”

“Jesus, you’re a bad enemy. Revealing your evil plans.”

“Hm, but I bet they’ll work. I can see it in your smile, the way I’ve tugged at your heartstrings.”

“And you said we couldn’t have fun banter.”

Maybe that’s not all Even was wrong about.

\---

When Even checks his mail that night, he has three letters from his dear friend. The first one has a note scrawled in the top margin.

_PS: This is what happened. I thought I knew exactly what I wanted to say to you, but then what I wanted to say kept changing. So I kept starting over, but if I’m going to honour the no editing rule, I need to show you everything. This is the first letter I wrote, then the second, then the third._

_PS X 2: I know PS means post-whatever but this is a post-thought. Of mine. I just put it at the top so you’d read it first._

_Dear Friend,_

_I’m sorry. Really, truly, deeply sorry._

_I could give you reasons and excuses, but they mean shit to me, so they’ll probably me even less to you._

_I’m suggesting we end this and move on. You don’t need to reply. (Unless you want to tell me to fuck off again, in which case, go ahead. I deserve it)._

_I wish the best for you, which is so fucking corny it sounds insincere, but remember that you can’t lie in a letter._

_Sincerely,  
Ben_

Even begins the next letter, grateful that wasn’t the final one.

_Dear Friend,_

_I’m sorry. Really, truly, deeply sorry._

_It wasn’t anything you said in your letter. It’s all me. Please, don’t be heartbroken over this._

_You’re pretty fucking pretentious, writing a screenplay into your letter, but it was effective. It’s really sad. It made me really sad to imagine you like that, so hey, congratulations. You’re good at this. (Can you still mention me in your Oscar speech? The boy who broke your heart?)_

_Sorry. I probably shouldn’t write to you like that anymore, but that’s how I like talking to you. I tried to write a different letter, but it was weird, and I missed you? How the fuck is that even possible?_

_I think I know what you’re thinking now. Like, this fucking guy thinks he has a right to miss me? When he abandoned me? Left me waiting all night? I don’t know where to go with this because I don’t have a justification for myself. I just want you to understand that I understand what an asshole I’ve been._

_You said you understand anger now, and the truth is that I don’t survive like this. It’s been killing me, but it’s like being poisoned. Maybe by a tarantula. Like, I didn’t realize I’d get this sick, but it’s slowly destroying me._

_I’m going to try to change. You probably don’t care, and you shouldn’t. I’m still going to try._

_You’re right that all of my letters were honest. And you’re also right that we were in a love story, and I fucked it up. I told you I would._

_You were probably the best I got, but I don’t think the same is true for you. Let’s end this here. I really hope you get to be as happy as you could have made me._

_Sincerely,  
Ben_

Even’s not sure what he could have left to say, but there’s still one more letter, and he’s certainly not going to leave it unread.

_Dear Even,_

_I’m sorry. Really, truly, deeply sorry._

_I’ve decided I have to send you the first two letters, so that’s all I’ll rehash in this one. This one is what I most need to tell you, which is also the hardest to say. I fucking hate that life works that way. (I considered making it a PS, but it got way too fucking long. And you probably don’t give a shit about my letter-writing process, so yeah. Moving on)._

_I like you, Even. You’re compassionate. You’re really the only person who can make me smile in a way that feels like a smile. You’re fucking funny, even if you’re not as funny as me. You’re passionate, and that makes me want to care the way you do._

_You write pretty words, but beyond that, you’re a really fucking beautiful person. I could still fall in love with you._

_I completely understand if you never want to speak to me again, but fuck everything I said in the other two letters about officially ending this. That’s not I want._

_I’d like to try again if you’d like to let me try again._

_I’m not as brave as you to share my name in these letters yet. I’m hoping I can at least become your dear friend again._

_Sincerely,  
Someone Who Likes You _

It’s a lot for Even to process, all of it, so he picks a focal point: the fact that he wants to try again, but won’t share his name. What could there be to protect now?

And, it’s weird he mentioned that Even waited all night for him, because Even knows he didn’t confess to that in the last letter. Which brings Even back to that night, his heartbreak—and didn’t Isak mention that today? That Even was heartbroken? He hadn’t told Isak that before, though maybe Eva did.

It was a coincidence they were at the same café on the same night, but it’s a popular place, so Even didn’t think too much of it at the time. Now, though—what else has Isak said to him?

He mentioned something about Even always going off-topic, which struck him as odd. They didn’t talk enough for Isak to form that kind of opinion, unless—

Ok, the ice cream. That was when he was sick, which was a few days after he sent the last letter. His dear friend probably would’ve received it that same day—and bought him ice cream as penance?

Didn’t he say _National Treasure_ was a classic? And he certainly curses a lot. Plus, he’s trying to change, just like he committed to his in letter.

Could Isak be his dear friend? And what the fuck would that mean for both of them?

Even has too many thoughts to sort through, so he picks up a pen.

_Dear…I don’t know what to call you anymore,_

_I have some questions._


	10. It Won't Be Long Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the response to the last chapter. It was so lovely. ❤️ I really hope you enjoy this one. :) 
> 
> Chat with me on [tumblr](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com)

_Dear…I don’t know what to call you anymore,_

_I have some questions._

_And right now, they’re all swimming around in my mind, crashing into each other, potentially drowning. I think I’ve lost the metaphor again. I am really bad with them._

_I don’t know if I’m ready to ask my questions yet. I don’t know if this is the place to ask them. I don’t know much of anything, it seems. Neither do you, and I think that’s why we can write to each other like this._

_I’m just going to write. That’s worked for us in the past._

_I have to believe in forgiveness. My therapist once said it’s an advantage, that I understand to how to love people in spite of what they’ve done, how to have grace with myself. I don’t really think she’s right. I’ve just fucked up a lot. If I didn’t know how to forgive, I wouldn’t be alive._

_I know when I’ve been sorry and when I’ve just apologized to make things easier for everyone. Apologies aren’t explanations. They’re regrets._

_I believe that you’re sorry—really, truly, and deeply. And, I forgive you. Thank you for not giving me reasons and excuses, but I must admit, I am curious about them. Ever since our first correspondence, I’ve been curious about everything about you. I just have so many questions._

_Why didn’t you meet me that night? What’s made you so angry? How do you reconcile your sweetness with your cynicism?_

_What helps you sleep and what keeps you from it? Why is your best friend your best friend? What is your favourite movie that’s not National Treasure?_

_What does your smile look like, my dear friend?_

_I’ve been trying to answer them myself, and I have a confession. I used to see you in every boy I met, but now I see you in one boy I know. I don’t know if you’re him, and I don’t know if I’ll be thrilled or disappointed if you are. When I saw him smile, I thought it was the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen._

_Maybe that’s hyperbole. I won’t know until I know your smile._

_Thank you for the kind words you said about me. No one’s ever responded so well to me telling them to fuck off, though I haven’t said it to that many people. I have kind words for you as well. You make me laugh. I think you’re considerate, and brave—even if you weren’t either of those things that night at that café. I knew I liked you from the very first letter. I thought you must be someone special to send it at all._

_The problem is that while I mean it when I say I’ve forgiven you, that doesn’t mean the anger’s entirely gone. And if we try again, like you want to and I think I’d like to as well, how do I know you won’t leave me even more heartbroken? I am really, really tired of being heartbroken. I’d love to know how a heart feels when everything’s intact, when its beat is steady._

_You could show me._

_Could you show me? I’m not sure any other question I’ve asked is as relevant as that one._

_I don’t know. I think I’m open to trying again. I think I have to be, because what happens if I’m not? I lose you, my dear friend? I have to sing for someone else to lava? I’m tired. My voice is so hoarse._

_I’m still hoping you’re the one._

_Ok. I’m open, but it’s only fair for the ball to be in your court. Tell me how you want to proceed: more letters? A phone call? A date? Just don’t stand me up again. Then you’d really be an asshole._

_At some point, you will have to tell me your name._

_Sincerely,  
Even _

\---

They’re becoming friends.

Isak has reread each letter to the point where Even’s words are like a song stuck in his head, but not of the Justin Bieber variety. They have the same nuance, the same rhythm, the same meaning as his favourite rap songs, the ones that help him feel understood.

He wants to build a playlist, a steady of rotation of Even’s words to keep him company throughout the day. So, he goes to the source.

He buys Even a tea when he gets his coffee before work. He invites Even to walk with him on their breaks. When Even mentions that his Friday night plan is to thirdwheel Jonas and Mikael’s date night, Isak says, “I could come over. We could do our own thing.”

Even raises his eyebrows. “Have our own date night?”

They both laugh at that because it’s still ridiculous in this world, to think they could date when they’re still experimenting with friendship. And that’s where Isak’s getting confused.

Even’s last letter was a second chance, an invitation to try again, and while that’s what Isak wanted—how is he supposed to proceed from here? How would Even react to seeing Isak at a café the same way Isak saw him? Disappointed, surely. Angry, probably. Plus, there’s that boy with the smile that’s _the most beautiful fucking thing he’s ever seen_. How does Isak compete with that?

He knows that Even likes Ben, but he wants to be sure he likes Isak too.

“No, you know what I mean. Just hanging out.”

Even studies him, eyes narrowed, almost suspicious—but smiling, always smiling. It does something to Isak, inspires a smile of his own that hurts his cheeks. They’re not used to this kind of happiness.

“Is tonight when you finally murder me?”

“Oh, no. I’ve planned that for next Wednesday.”

Even laughs, bright and loud: the perfect accompaniment for his words. “You’re really going to murder me on a fucking Wednesday? Do I not deserve the dramatics of a Friday night murder?”

“I don’t want put a damper on everyone’s weekend.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Thank you, I’m actually very sweet."

They could do this for hours, Isak thinks, but they’re interrupted when one of Even’s regular customers comes in. “I should probably do my job,” Even says.

“You have less than a week to live. Why waste time?”

“And you think I want to spend my last hours on earth with you? My killer?”

“Maybe you can change my mind.”

“Hm, maybe I should invite you over tonight.”

“I think that would be wise.”

“Alright. It’s not a date, then.”

\---

“I don’t understand why you won’t just tell him.”

That’s been Jonas’s question since the Ice Cream Incident, and Isak’s response has always been to mumble an _I don’t know_ , shrug, or tell him to fuck off. Now that they’re walking to Even and Mikael’s together for what’s not a double date, he won’t let it go. “Can we please drop this?”

“But I don’t get it,” Jonas says, and Isak sighs. They’ve been through this. “He’s forgiven you in the letters. He’s forgiven you in person. He likes you, Isak.”

“He doesn’t know I am the person behind the letters.”

“So?”

“So, what if he wants to fall in love with Ben, but only wants me as a friend? What if he doesn’t want us to be the same person? What if I lose Art and Even?”

“If you never tell him, that’s probably going to happen anyway.”

Isak recalls the last line of Even’s letter: _At some point, you will have to tell me your name._

He will. Just—not yet. Not until he’s sure that Even could see him the way Isak’s seeing him now. Like he’s someone he could fall in love with.

That’s what Isak thinks when Even opens the door to let them in, taking in his smile, the strand of hair that dangles over his forehead, the blue eyes Shakespeare would struggle to do justice.

Even is one thing in letters, and while that thing is fucking glorious, Isak’s realizing it doesn’t compare to him in person. He gets everyone drinks and food, finds a board game for them to play. He asks Jonas about how his sister is adjusting to university, teases Mikael with questions about how his _year dedicated to his art_ is going. When he laughs, which is often, it’s generous: he’s happy to share his happiness with them.

And when the conversation shifts to more serious topics, as it tends to with Jonas and Mikael, Even is careful, thoughtful, and compassionate with his words. He is a charmer, absolutely, but not because the person underneath his pretty words isn’t worth knowing.

Maybe Even just doesn’t realize how good he is.

Given the amount of times Jonas elbows Isak, he knows he’s not being subtle with his glances, but neither is Even. They’re looking at each other enough that Jonas and Mikael are noticing how much they’re looking at each other. Isak just hopes Even understands what he’s not quite brave enough to say.

_See me. See yourself the way I see you. Let’s try to fall in love._

Isak wants it, and he only grows more sure of that as the evening goes on. Jonas and Mikael are so comfortable with each other, almost lazy in their flirting, and it’s sweet. He notices the way Mikael smiles at Jonas when goes on one of his rants, how Jonas gently strokes Mikael’s back when he goes quiet in the conversation.

It looks so nice, and Even is so nice. It could be so nice.

“You guys are pretty cute,” Isak says as practice for actually saying what he thinks.

“Oh, you should’ve seen the way Mikael pined after him,” Even says. They’re all a little buzzed now. “Even before I came home, he was texting me about ‘the pretentious fuck’ at the video store.”

“Funny, that’s also what he called you,” Isak says to Mikael, who shrugs.

“But instead of actually asking him out,” Even says. “He thought the best course of action was to continue asking for him obscure recommendations. I don’t know if you thought it came off as cute, or…?”

“Hey, it worked,” Mikael says, and Jonas smirks a little at that. “And this is interesting, coming from the guy who thinks he’s going to meet his soul mate through sending love letters.”

Isak moves his gaze away from Even and stares directly at the the floor. He’s pretty sure Even is still looking at him. “Ok, get this,” Mikael says, potentially more buzzed than the rest of them. “That night you ran into him at the café, Isak? When you were an asshole?”

“I remember,” Isak says. Jonas coughs.

“Well, the asshole who stood him up was this guy he was writing love letters to. Like a lonely heart’s club. What’s it called, Even?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Love Letters! Fucking original, right? Anyway, the guy stands him up, Even tells him off, but then he writes this apology letter in response. I think it’s bullshit myself, but Even still wants to try with him. How fucked is that?”

Isak risks looking up. Even is definitely still looking at him.

“I don’t know,” Jonas says. “Sometimes people deserve second chances. Like, I’m pretty sure Isak and Even never thought they’d hang out together like this. Right?”

Isak elbows Jonas harder than Jonas elbowed him for being as subtle as a fucking brick, but he’s reassured when Even says, “Yeah, I agree. And I’m glad we’re hanging out now.”

“Me too,” Isak says.

Once Mikael and Jonas exhaust all the courtesy they have to spare on a date night, Even offers to walk Isak home, and Isak accepts. It’s snowing, and it's the kind of cold that turns their cheeks pink.

It looks like something out of a movie.

“You know, you didn’t give your opinion,” Even says once they’re close to Isak’s apartment. “About the boy I’m writing love letters to.”

Isak slips in a patch of ice, and Even catches him by the arm. “The asshole?”

“I’m assuming he also goes by another name, but yes. Him. Do you agree with Mikael? Do you think I’m wasting my time?”

“It’s not really my place to say.”

“I’m asking you, Isak. I’m making it your place.”

They stop in front of Isak’s building. There’s snow scattered throughout Even’s hair. He looks fucking beautiful. 

“No. I think you’re brave to try.”

Even smiles and Isak knows that if this really were a movie, this would be the moment to confess. The time to be brave himself.

But everything he needs to say is all fucked up in his brain, and he’s just not the romantic lead who always has the right words at the moment. He’s reminded of the beginning of Even’s letter because it feels like all his thoughts are crashing into each other, struggling to stay afloat.

He needs to do what Even did. He needs to write.

“We should do this again,” Isak says, flinching at the way Even’s smile falters. _I promise_ , Isak thinks. _I promise I will make everything up to you, and I’m going to write this fucking promise down._ “Goodnight, Even. Thanks for tonight.”

Even nods, his previous smile replaced by a polite one. “Goodnight, Isak.”

Once he’s inside, Isak begins his confession.

_Dear Even,_

_I have some answers._


	11. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a little emotional posting this one. I'll write my sappy author's note before the epilogue, but know that I love this story and the way you've responded to it. Thank you so much. ❤️
> 
> Special thank you to Ally ([@allywantstofly](https://allywantstofly.tumblr.com/)) who made [this beautiful edit](https://allywantstofly.tumblr.com/post/170004130572/dear-friend-by-brionbroadway-every-time-i-see-a) for this fic. Aside from being a lovely person, she makes amazing edits and has the best fic recs, so I highly recommend following her.
> 
> Enjoy! ❤️

So, it’s not Isak.

It’s not exactly fair, and it’s certainly not logical, for Even to be disappointed. And while he knows how to recognize unfair and illogical feelings, that doesn’t stop him from feeling them.

He always does this. He knows he always does this. He puts everything onto one person, things they never were and never asked to be. _You could be the person I could trust with all of these fucking feelings. You could be the one who makes me laugh when I can’t even speak. You could be my love._

What did his dear friend say? _You put way too fucking much on me._ And now he’s done the same to Isak.

Isak’s just a nice, beautiful boy, who is trying really fucking hard to do his best every day. Even admires that, so of course he wants to be close to it, wants to be with someone who believes it’s important to be good, wants to help Isak when his anger tries to overcome the rest of him.

Of course he wants to kiss that smile.

It would be easier if Isak were his dear friend, but he’s not, so Even has to move on. There is still a boy he probably loves behind those letters, so really, he’s fucking lucky. He’ll feel better once he reads the next letter.

If he gets another letter.

It’s taken longer than usual, but Even doesn’t want to believe he might be heartbroken again. The fact that Isak is not his dear friend has already cracked it, just a little.

Because it’s hard for his heart not to notice Isak on nights like this, the ones where he is as sweet, as funny, and as fully himself as he can be. They’re setting-up DVD displays at the library before the screening when he says, “One day your movie will be here.”

“Among a stack of movies no one wants to watch?” Even says.

Isak rolls his eyes. “Not what I meant, but now that you’ve said it, yeah. Probably. You might not be the next—I don’t know, who do you like?”

“Baz Luhrmann.”

“That is the least surprising thing I’ve ever heard, but ok. Maybe you’re not the next Baz Luhrmann, but how fucking awesome would it be if you made a movie? Just this thing that’s inspired entirely by your thoughts.”

“My thoughts are shit.”

“I don’t agree with that. I always want to know more of them.”

“Really?”

Isak nods and it’s so hard for Even not to believe him, and that cracks his heart a little more.

Especially as Isak goes on to ask about Denmark, what he studied, what he’d like to, if he’s thought about going back. Not prying, just curious. Not judgmental, just understanding.

“I have to go back at some point,” Even says. “But you’re all making it very hard to leave.”

“Well, rumour is you’re pretty good at writing letters.”

He wishes that were more than a rumour to Isak. He wishes Isak knew everything he’s already confessed to someone else.

As the screening gets closer, more staff from _Small Screen_ show up. Jonas and Mikael are wandering the library to make each other required readings lists, though Jonas keeps glancing at Isak.  In the rare moments Eva’s not distracting Noora from her job, she’s whispering with Isak. Sana’s with Yousef, and she’s raised her eyebrows at Isak more than once.

Everyone but Even is in love, and everyone but him is in on a secret. That’s what’s unfair. Love and secrets are his favourite things.

The exception, as always, is Vilde. Even’s grateful to see her. There’s a kinship in both being new to the staff, the outsiders, just like there’s a kinship in heartbreak.

But tonight, she doesn’t look heartbroken at all. Her smile is fucking radiant at what she’s accomplished. “I think we did a great job,” she says, surveying the library patrons who are starting to fill the room. “People came.”

“It was all you,” Even says. It’s a lie, but it’s a nice thing to say, so his conscience is ok with it.

Vilde doesn’t argue. “I actually have a date coming tonight.”

“Seriously? That’s great, Vilde.”

Even understands her smile as she describes a girl who she feels safe with, braver with, who she could maybe fall in love with. A girl Isak introduced her to.

“Really?” Even asks.

“He said he thought of me when he met her. And he knew I’d been sad since the thing with Eva ended, so. Maybe I could give this a try.” Vilde pauses. “I didn’t think anyone saw me as someone who could be loved, you know?”

All too fucking well. He’s struck by how thoughtful Isak was, and it’s not that he’s surprised—well, maybe a little. It’s just that he loves that Isak thinks the way he does. Maybe he’d believe Even could be loved too, even if it’s not by him. Maybe Isak will come to believe he deserves love himself.

Even sincerely hopes so.

He’s staring at Isak, because he’s been doing that a lot lately, when Isak catches his gaze, whispers something to Eva, then walks towards him. Eva gets Noora, who goes to the front of the room.

Even knows he’s not the best timekeeper, but he’s sure the screening wasn’t scheduled to start for another fifteen minutes. “What’s going on?” Even asks Isak once he reaches him.

“Preshow,” Isak answers.

“Did we plan that?”

“Depends who you mean by we.”

“Hi everyone,” Noora says. “Thanks for coming. We’re not officially starting yet, but we thought we’d play a short in the meantime to keep you entertained. This is someone who works at _Small Screen_ ’s favourite movie.”

Even glances at Isak. “Yours?”

“You wanted to know what it was.”

He did?

Even hears it first: wind and waves. Then, on screen, he sees a volcano all alone in the ocean, looking for someone to lava.

Oh. That is— _oh_.

Is it really him?

Isak reaches into his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper. “I thought I’d hand-deliver this one.”

It is, _it is_ , and Even still doesn’t quite believe it until he brushes Isak’s hand as he takes the letter from him. He lets his fingers linger there because that’s _it_ , that’s the hand that wrote all the letters. That’s the boy who wrote all the letters.

Isak is his dear friend.

Isak nods towards the door, and Even follows him outside into the snow. Once they’re alone, Isak talks like he’s writing a letter.

“I’m going to look away as you read that because, yeah. It’s ok if you’re mad, or disappointed—I totally get it, I just. I had to tell you, and—”

“Isak.”

“Yeah?”

“Just let me read it.”

“Ok. I’m still just going to…yeah.”

Isak turns around so his back’s to Even, and Even bites his lip to stop himself from laughing. He is so fucking cute. He is so fucking endearing. He is so fucking sweet.

And he wrote him another letter.

_Dear Even,_

_I have some answers._

_I didn’t meet you that night because I thought I knew who you were. Honestly (is that redundant at this point?), I decided who you were before I decided to get to know you. It was really fucking unfair of me. I didn’t think I could love you, and I definitely didn’t think you could love me._

_I was wrong._

_I’m angry because of so much shit that’s going to sound cliché when I write it down. My dad doesn’t love me. Sometimes I find it hard to love my mom. Homophobia is a thing. I don’t think it’s wrong to be angry about those things, but you’ve shown me that focusing on it has kept me from some good stuff in my life._

_Like you._

_I don’t know if I’m that sweet, but I actually think my cynicism makes me kinder. I know what it’s like when life fucks you over, so I want to help people._

_You were dealt a shit hand too. I’m here for you if you want me to be._

_I’m really bad at sleeping. It’s like my brain tunes into the podcast from hell about everything I feel guilty or anxious about. My dad’s frequently a special guest, and each episode is at least five hours long._

_It helps when I read your letters before bed. And it sounds really fucking rude to say they put me to sleep, but it’s actually one of the best things you’ve done for me._

_My best friend is my best friend because he understands how to be there for someone. Most people in my life haven’t understood that, but now I have some more friends that do._

_You know them._

_If I’ve pulled this off right, my favourite movie is playing right now. And I know you’ve seen my smile by now. It’s not the most beautiful fucking thing in the world, but maybe it’ll do._

_My name is Isak. I hope that’s really fucking obvious at this point, but it felt significant to say._

_So, ok. There are your answers. Now, as for everything else I need to tell you:_

_You told me you’re often misidentified as a romantic, and I get it. Love is fucking complicated, and I think you are the kind of person who feels enough and cares enough to really understand that. But from your first letter, it was pretty fucking obvious you like romance. Maybe you just didn’t believe your love story could have it._

_You deserve it. I’m trying to give it to you now. Do you like the movie? And that I brought you the letter by hand? Fuck, I can’t imagine actually giving it to you. I’m so fucking nervous._

_I will, though. I wrote the promise down. Just, don’t be surprised if I run away after I give you the letter or do something equally embarrassing. I think you’re kind enough to forgive me for it._

_I’m still really fucking worried about what you’ll think. We like each other now, right? We’re cool. Chill. Bros. Maybe that’s all you see for us. Maybe you’re heartbroken it’s me, and if you are, I’m so fucking sorry. I want to be the one who shows you how it feels when your heart’s intact, but I understand if I’m not the person you want._

_But if you like the boy who wrote you letters, I think you could like me too._

_Is the ball still in my court? Because I don’t know the game we’re playing now. I don’t know how you’ll react to this letter. I don’t know shit, except that at some point you’ll have to go back to Denmark._

_Whatever. I really want to try with you, even if we just continue writing each other letters._

_While we’re both in the same country, it would be nice if we went on an actual date. I promise to show up, and I promise to stay. I’ll tell you everything else then._

_Love,  
Isak_

_PS: Even, dear friend, it’s almost Christmas. You were right._

“Ok. I don’t know how quickly you read, and I know it’s a lot, I’m not even sure you’re still standing there—”

Even places his hands on Isak’s shoulders and turns him around. And there he is, his dear friend—he sees it so clearly now that he’s not sure how me missed it before.

Even presses his forehead against Isak’s, then brushes Isak’s cheek with his thumb. He loved the boy in the letters, and he is real. He is real, and he is—

“Isak.”

“Yeah.”

“Dear friend.”

“That too.”

“This is what I wanted.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t know for a while. I didn’t think it would be. But now, I don’t think I’d be happy if it was anyone else.”

“Same.” That’s when Isak leans into the touch, wrapping his arms around Even’s waist. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“I’m sorry for so much.”

“Me too.”

“I feel like I have so much to say to you.”

“You can always write me a letter.”

Even laughs, Isak smiles, and then there’s nothing left for them to do but kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's an epilogue because even though this feels like the right place to end the main arc, we all deserve a fluffy glimpse of their relationship, right? And, they will always have more to say to each other. So, we don't have to let go quite yet. :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@brionbroadway](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com), and I always love it when people chat with me.
> 
> ❤️❤️❤️


	12. Bows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that this story is over and the end of Blood vs. Water is in sight, I've been wondering if I'd continue writing Evak fic beyond the occasional drabble. Then last night, I read about Isak studying his socks in the script, and I fell in love with these characters all over again. I think I still have stories to tell with them, and hope you'll still be around to read them. ❤️
> 
> I was emotional after I posted the finale, but I feel satisfied after writing the epilogue. I hope it gives you the same feeling. I wanted to write this story for a long time, and I'm so glad I ultimately took a chance on it. I cannot thank you all enough for all the support.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@brionbroadway](http://brionbroadway.tumblr.com).
> 
> Enjoy! ❤️❤️❤️

_Dear Even,_

_You said I wouldn’t write you first._

_But I just got home from the airport, and I think I already miss you. Jonas offered to stay after he dropped me off, but I said I’d rather talk to you. It’s been so fucking long since we’ve talked like this. I might not be good at it anymore, no longer the charming, mysterious boy who wooed you with National Treasure references._

_Did that make you laugh? I’m jealous of everyone who gets to hear it. I’m jealous of Denmark, which is not something I’m proud to say._

_They have you, though. They win._

_I didn’t say what I wanted to at the airport because of the crying, and because sometimes I still lie to you. I’m really sorry for that. But when I want to make sure you’re ok, or don’t know how to talk about something, it feels like the right decision._

_I’m going to try to be more honest because that’s how we fell in love, and I fucking love that we’re in love._

_That’s the first thing I didn’t tell you at the airport. Love is fucking great, right? I think about you, and I’m calm. Happy. Horny. And it’s like you say, those feelings always turn into something else. Peace. Elation. Extra-horny-ness. But it’s not only that I’m in love, it’s that I’m in love with you—kind, passionate, vulnerable, creative, thoughtful, handsome you. I’d go on if your ego weren’t already massive._

_I love you, Even. I love you, I love you, I love you, and I think I have to break our promise. This letter will only be honest if I write that infinite more times.  Maybe I can get away with saying that I love you here and everywhere else, now and at every other time._

_Even when you’re in fucking Denmark._

_I’m glad you’re there, though. Really, sincerely. And you asked me twenty-seven times if I was ok with it (I kept a tally on my phone), so it’s not like you didn’t give me a chance to say I wasn’t. I miss you, but I’m so fucking proud of you._

_You go after what you want. I used to hate that about you, like, who the fuck did you think you were? You can’t walk into a store and ask for a job because you’re friends with the manager’s brother. You can’t ask people to hang out when you’ve only known them for a few days. You can’t assume the world will be as kind to you as you are to it._

_But you never thought that, did you? I’ve seen you be dark, and I’ve seen you be cynical, and I understand now how deeply you understand the world’s bullshit. You just always believed it was still worth trying, because of what if something really good came from it? A great job. Good friends._

_Me. You really won the jackpot there._

_Thanks for helping me try too._

_And now you’re going back to a place where you’ve been hurt, and you’re going to make movies. I’ve told you how fucking cool that is, right? I swear you were given extra imagination, which is unfair because you were also given extra beauty and goodness. Lucky for me, though, that I get to love you._

_I can’t wait to see what you create, because I know it’ll help me understand you, or myself, or the entire fucking universe, better. I can’t wait to be your top comment on YouTube: I’m sleeping with the director._

_Seriously, though. Send me everything. I don’t care if it’s unfinished, or if you think it’s shit, or whatever excuse you give yourself to hide from me. I still want to see it, because it came from you._

_I love you so fucking much, Even. But, I think we’ve covered that._

_The store’s going to miss you, but hopefully you understood that from the goodbye party. Adam’s cake wasn’t that big, just saying. On bad days, try to remember what Eva said: everyone there is better for knowing you._

_I’m already dreading customers asking me if they can speak to “the charming one” instead. Actually, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be there. I haven’t told you this yet, but you’ve kind of inspired me to start looking at lab assistant jobs? Obviously I’ll keep my job until I have something lined up, and it’s not exactly living the dream, but it’s a start—_

_I’m going to stop because I can picture your smile, hear you telling me to go for it. Maybe to expand my search to Denmark. You wouldn’t do anything else._

_Ok, other things I didn’t tell you. Mikael texted me this morning. I didn’t even think he had my number, but I guess he’s got sources. It just said: This sucks. I replied: Yeah. It’s not exactly the beginning of a beautiful friendship, but maybe he’ll come around to me yet. I know we’re both going to miss you the most._

_You left your favourite sweater at my place this morning. I’m invoking finders keepers._

_And I’m definitely not mad that you didn’t put your dishes in the dishwasher, given the emotions of the day. Even though it’s right under the counter where you put them._

_There’s more, some harder stuff to say._

_I’m nervous you’ll meet someone who actually deserves your love in Denmark._

_I don’t think I remember how to fall asleep without you beside me._

_I’m going to worry about you. I know you don’t want me to. If you need me, ever, for anything, call me. I know I’ve told you that a lot, but I’m telling you again._

_I’m sorry if any of this makes you sad. Let me end on something else._

_Actually, I was kind of offended you said I wouldn’t write you first. Like you’re the only fucking romantic in this relationship. I wrote you love letters! Organized a screening of our favourite movie! Gave you a letter in a dramatic reveal!_

_Maybe you should make a movie about us. I guess the plot’s been done before, but not with us. Not with our love story._

_It’s a good one._

_Love,  
Isak_

_PS: I’m looking up flights to Denmark._

_\---_

_Dear Isak,_

_My dear, dear Isak._

_I tried to hang up on you when I got your letter. You got so mad. It was so fucking cute, and when I said you were cute, you got even madder. I could picture your eye-roll, but I know you were smiling. I can hear it in your voice now. Maybe there are some benefits to this long-distance thing._

_I’d still rather see your smile in person._

_But can you blame me for being eager? After receiving a love letter from you, my dear friend, my love, my Isak? Oh, you must really be rolling your eyes now._

_You’ll forgive me for being extra cheesy, because I feel a little outdone that you wrote me first. You are certainly a fucking romantic. I guessed it from the start._

_So, should I do the same? Tell you things I haven’t said over the phone? Or text, or Facebook, or Instagram? I still lie to you too. I don’t think that’s a surprise to you, though I am sorry for it. I’m working on it._

_A letter is a good place to start._

_I’m doing ok. I’m making friends, decent grades. I’m writing a lot, filming a little. I’m happy enough, but when I talk to you? It’s like I remember there’s a whole other kind of happiness out there. I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to experience it._

_I love you. And I understand the desire to write that over and over again, but let me just say that I agree with you. I believe our love is infinite._

_Isak, when I read that you’re looking into lab assistant jobs, I smiled, mentally told you go to for it, and started Googling jobs in Denmark. Which you know, because I’ve already sent them to you. I’m not exactly sure how to balance all the ways we communicate, but we’ll figure it out. We’ve figured everything else out._

_I’m not convinced you have much reason to be proud of me, but I’m happy you are. I am so, so proud of you, though. You are not the person I met when I started at Small Screen, and thank God. He was such an asshole. I was going to say you’re Ben Gates, but that’s not quite right either._

_You’re just becoming more and more Isak every day. And I love him so fucking much._

_I miss the store. I miss being known as the charming one. Our friends have been good about keeping in touch, so at least there’s that. I don’t know if what Eva said is true, but I’m definitely better for knowing all of you._

_You know, Mikael texts me every time he texts you. Like he wants me to congratulate him on making an effort—which I do, of course. You can get each other through the torture of missing me._

_I don’t miss my sweater. Just you._

_I’m sorry about the dishes you’re not mad about. I would tell you my apartment here is pristine, but that would also be a lie._

_Now, the hard stuff._

_I don’t know why you think you don’t deserve my love. I think I will call you after I finish this letter to monologue about incredible you are. You’ll probably be annoyed that I’m gushing, but you, Isak, are worth gushing over._

_Sincerely, though: you don’t have to worry about me falling in love with anyone else. For the rest of my life, I don’t expect I’ll do anything but fall more in love with you._

_I can’t be there to hold you as you fall asleep, but Isak, I think of you every single night. I try to send love and peace your way, though I suspect it sometimes gets lost in the mail. I’ll complain to the universe about that. But if you ever want to call me just so I’m there on the other line, we can do that._

_Thanks for taking my call the other night. I guess you do have reasons to worry about me. I both wish you wouldn’t and am glad you do, because you were exactly who I needed to talk to. No one else listens to me quite like you, which I told my therapist. I think it made her a little jealous._

_I’m sorry because that won’t be my last bad night. Thanks for being there for me anyway._

_Do you know what I’ve been thinking about lately? What would have happened if you’d arrived at the café first that night? I mean, it’s the first time I’ve been early for anything in my life. If I saw you there, what would I have done?_

_The honest answer, the only one I can give, is that I don’t know, but I do wonder if we’d be here now. If we’d gone ahead with the date, maybe we would have decided then that it was never going to work. If I’d stood you up, maybe you never would have wrote me another letter._

_My point is that I’m happy things happened the way they happened, even if it really hurt. We’re here now. I wouldn’t trade anything for that._

_Maybe that’s the angle I can take in my movie about us. I’ll explore some of the endless What If’s. What is it that you say, everything that can happen will happen? I wonder what’s happening to the other Isak’s and Even’s out there. No matter how different the details of their stories are, I believe they’re all ok, and that they’re all in love._

_So, don’t worry. I’ll always give our story a happy ending._

_Love,  
Even_

_PS: I’ve already booked a flight back home. I’m going to hand-deliver this one._


End file.
